In The Grip Of Darkness: Part Two
by JJ Rust
Summary: The continuation of "In The Grip Of Darkness." Peacetime proves harder than wartime for my four American OCs. Can they overcome their trauma and rebuild their shattered lives?
1. Precipice

**CHAPTER 1: PRECIPICE **

* * *

Cold knives of fear dug deep into Rosa Infante's stomach. She bent over in her seat, trying to force her legs to stop quaking. They wouldn't. Eventually the shaking spread to her hands, which lay folded in her lap.

_Please be okay. Please be okay._

She lifted her head, staring at the dull white walls of the hallway and the candles floating overhead that provided illumination. When she woke up this morning in her apartment in Boston's Milmothryn Market, she never expected to end up at the Muamok Magical Hospital in Bangkok, Thailand. She also never expected the news her cousin, Jared Diaz, to be here lying in a coma.

"Overindulgence of a Daydream Charm." That's what the healer had told her and her family. An examination of Jared's wand showed he had been using the charm three to four times a day, instead of no more than once in a twelve-hour period as instructed. He'd even experimented with the charm to make it last longer. In the end, according to the healer, Jared had lost the ability to distinguish between reality and imagination to the point his brain couldn't take the strain.

Now all they could do was wait, and hope.

_We can regrow limbs, mend bones, heal burns, but we don't have a spell or potion that can wake someone up from a coma._

Rosa leaned back in her chair, pressing her head against the brick wall. _Why, Jared? Why did you do this to yourself?_

She glanced around at the others. Uncle Irving sat with his face buried in his hands. A lump formed in her throat as she watched him. First he lost Aunt Liana, now he may lose one of his sons.

_Speaking of sons . . ._

Uncle Irving's oldest son, Esteban, sat by himself at the far end of the hallway, as far as he could get from Rosa. Neither of them had talked since the night they argued about trying to help Uncle Irving, an argument that ended with Esteban striking her in the face. She still had so many mixed emotions about that. She didn't think he had done it on purpose, but still . . .

_Are we ever gonna talk again?_

Rosa knew she wasn't ready to make the first move. Anyway, right now her thoughts had to be with Jared, not his older brother.

Across from her Jimmy O'Bannon and Mireet Miradeaux sat beside one another, quietly holding hands. Just another surprise to this day. She had thought Jimmy left the Wizarding World for good after all the trauma he experienced during the war. She couldn't believe it when she saw him in Artimus' apartment. But instead of hugging him and welcoming him back, she had yelled at him for abandoning her, their friends, the entire Wizarding World.

_At least he port keyed with us to Thailand. I guess that's something._

Her gaze then went to Artimus Rand and his Muggle girlfriend, Jenna Fabrici. A brief smile flashed across her lips. She had to give it to Art. He had tried to get them all together to work out the problems that had strained their friendship since the end of the war. Unfortunately, the get-together had deteriorated into a screaming match, one she was largely responsible for.

That thought made her stare down the row of benches she sat on, to her parents, Cesario and Adelaide Infante, the U.S. Secretary of Magic and the Director of the U.S. Aurors Bureau respectively. Mom sat next to Uncle Irving, her brother, clutching his arm and whispering something to him. Uncle Irving, however, didn't appear responsive.

Rosa clenched her teeth. That had been the subject of one of the arguments that erupted at Artimus' apartment. She hurled accusations and insults at her mother, berating her for removing Uncle Irving as head of the Special Magical Creatures Action Team. That move, combined with the death of his wife months before, had started Uncle Irving on a downward spiral that Mom, she felt, did nothing to fix.

_I hope she's not making things worse._

Rosa sighed dropped her chin to her chest. She closed her eyes, thinking back to happier times with her family. Not just Mom and Dad, but Aunt Liana and Uncle Irving, whom she thought of as a second set of parents. Jared, her best friend since they were in diapers, more a brother than a cousin. Esteban. While she may not have been as close to him as with Jared because of five-year age difference, they still got on well. Hell, she loved him, like she loved everyone in her family.

_I thought everything was supposed to be better with the war over, _she thought, not for the first time. But it seemed her family had been a lot closer while they'd been fighting for their lives than they were in peacetime.

She stood up, folding her arms, and slowly walked toward the other end of the hall. She hated this waiting, hated not knowing how Jared was, dreaded a healer or nurse appearing to tell her that her cousin would never recover.

Another emotion tore through her worry. Anger. Anger at . . . well, everything. Her family, her friends, her job at the Aurors Bureau, the war, the whole damn Wizarding World. Why the hell couldn't life be simple, like when she'd gone to Salem? Go to class, do homework, hang out with friends, find a quiet place to make out with her boyfriend, spend the summer with her family. But the war had turned everything upside-down. Even two years after the war ended, things were still upside-down.

Part of her wanted to blame Jimmy. If he hadn't have spent that year overseas at Hogwarts, if he hadn't have agreed to help Headmaster Dumbledore fight Lord Voldemort, if he hadn't have asked her and Jared and Artimus for their help . . .

She sighed and stared at the floor. No. She couldn't blame him. Even if Jimmy had never gone to Hogwarts, the war still would have come to the United States, and she would have been involved with it anyway.

Rosa halted near the window at the end of the hallway. She stared out at the sea of orange and yellow lights and the silhouettes of distant tall buildings that made up Muggle Bangkok. This shouldn't be her first experience in Thailand, stuck in a hospital with Jared in a coma. She should be here visiting him, exploring Magical Bangkok _and _Muggle Bangkok with him.

_Now I may never do anything with him . . . ever._

Tears stung her eyes. Rosa concentrated on keeping them from spilling down her cheeks.

Footsteps echoed behind her. She turned to find Uncle Irving approaching. Her chest constricted as she noticed his sagging face and half-closed eyes.

"Hey, Uncle Irving."

He said nothing, just gave her a barely perceptible nod.

She choked back a sob. It wasn't fair, dammit! A dead wife, fired from a job he loved, his oldest son's wife walking out on him, now his youngest son in a coma. How could life be so cruel to one man? How could anyone recover from all that?

"He'll get better." She gently grasped her uncle's arm. "You know he will."

Uncle Irving stared back at her with dead eyes. "He's my son," he muttered. "My son, my flesh and blood, and I can't do a thing to help him. Just like I couldn't help . . . couldn't help Liana."

Rosa's jaw trembled. She felt a tear roll down her cheek.

Uncle Irving unexpectedly hugged her and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek. "You're a wonderful niece, Rosa. You always have been."

"Thank you." She barely got the words past the lump in her throat.

"I, um . . ." Uncle Irving exhaled slowly. "I need to get some air. Bye, Rosa."

He shuffled to the door leading to the stairwell and pushed it open. Rosa stared through the rectangular window above the doorknob and watched her uncle walk up the stairs.

She clenched her jaw and hugged herself. From his tone of voice, it seemed Uncle Irving abandoned all hope that Jared would recover.

_How could he do that? How could he just give up on . . ._

An uneasiness niggled the back of her mind. She turned to the stairwell door again. Why had Uncle Irving been going _up _the stairs? If he wanted some air, wouldn't he head to the ground floor to go outside? The only place he could get some air going up would be . . .

The roof.

A lead ball dropped into her stomach. Goosepimples broke out over her body. She remembered Uncle Irving's last words to her. _"Bye, Rosa." _Why would he say "bye" if he only wanted to get some air?

_Oh no. No, no, no no!_

She bolted for the door and pushed it open.

"Uncle Irving!" She craned her head, staring up at the numerous flights of stairs leading to the roof. She spotted him, one landing away from the doorway to the outside.

"Uncle Irving!"

He ignored her and kept climbing.

She sprinted up the stairs, shouting his name.

He pushed open the door to the roof and disappeared through it.

"No!" Rosa bounded the stairs two or three at a time. Her heart raced. Panic spread throughout her.

_Don't do it. Please don't do it._

She charged through the doorway onto the flat roof. She couldn't find Uncle Irving in the darkness. Her knees buckled. _Oh Merlin, no!_

There! She saw him standing in front of the parapet, looking down at it. Shoulders slumped, he lifted his leg and placed one foot on the parapet.

"Uncle Irving!"

He turned to her. "Rosa, you'd better go back inside."

"Why?"

Uncle Irving swallowed. "Rosa, please. I don't want you to see . . . I don't . . ."

"What? You don't want me to see you throw yourself off the roof?"

Uncle Irving averted his gaze from her.

"Am I wrong? Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me you're not going to do that."

He stooped over, shoulders twitching as he softly sobbed. "It's too much, Rosa. Liana, SMACRAT, Jared. I lost it all."

"Jared's not dead."

"He's not going to recover. I know it. Fate is determined to take everything in my life that I care about. It's just . . . everything will be better if I'm not . . ." Uncle Irving peered out over the edge.

"Don't say that!" Rosa stomped toward him. "Jared needs you. He's your son, for Merlin's sake."

"A son I cut myself off from. I cut myself off from both my sons. Now look at them. Esteban's wife walked out on him and took little Rodolfo with her. Jared became addicted to a Daydream Charm and now he's in a coma. Where was I when all this was happening? They're my sons, and I did nothing to help them. They don't need a father like me."

"That's not true. They both need you, now more than ever. This whole family needs you."

"No they don't." He turned his back to her.

"I need you!"

Uncle Irving froze. Rosa held her breath, willingly him to step away from the edge.

He glanced over his shoulder. "No you don't. I cut you off just as much as I did Esteban and Jared. You, who I thought of like a daughter instead of a niece. This is, this is better for everyone. Now, go back inside, please."

"No." Rosa took another step toward him. She thought about going for her wand, hitting him with a Body-Bind Curse or a Levitation Charm. But if Uncle Irving saw her reach for her wand, he might hurl himself over the edge before she got it out. And she had no guarantee she could reach the edge and cast a spell in time to save him before he hit the ground.

"Rosa, please. You've seen enough bad things in your life. You don't need to see this."

"I'm not leaving this roof."

Uncle Irving hung his head. He exhaled slowly.

Rosa bit down on her lower lip. _Please . . . please . . ._

He turned back to her. "I'm sorry. I love you. Tell Jared and Esteban I love them, too."

"Uncle Irving, no!"

"Irving, stop!"

Rosa whirled around when she heard the new voice. A slender witch with regal features and long dark hair stood a couple feet away.

"Mom?"

Her mother just nodded to her and slowly walked past her, extending a pleading hand to Uncle Irving.

"What do you want?" he practically growled.

"Irving, please. Don't do this."

"What do you care?"

"What do I care? I'm your sister. I love you."

"Well you have a funny way of showing it." Uncle Irving scowled at her. "You're the one who got me dismissed from SMACRAT."

"I was . . . I never meant to . . ."

Rosa swallowed, praying her mother wouldn't make this worse.

"We're family, Adelaide. How could you do that to me? Your own brother. Didn't I always look out for you when we were growing up? And this is how you thank me?"

"Irving, that decision wasn't easy for me."

"But you still did it." His head shook with anger. "You took SMACRAT away from me. That's all I had to keep me going after Liana died. And you took it from me!"

"I'm sorry!" Mom's eyes glistened in the moonlight. "Irving, I'm so sorry. Please believe me, I never meant to hurt you. Do you want me to get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness? Fine, I'll do it."

"I don't want . . . it's too late for that anyway." Uncle Irving started to turn away.

"No!" Mom took another step toward him. "Irving, think of Jared. What will happen when he comes out of that coma?"

"What if he doesn't?"

"What if he does? No, he _will _come out of that coma, and when he does, he'll want to see you. Do you really want the first thing he hears when he wakes up is that his father threw himself off the roof of the very hospital he's recovering at? Can you imagine how devastated he'll be? Him and Esteban and Rodolfo . . . and me. Don't do this to them, to us. Don't do this to Jared. Please, Irving. Think about your son. Don't let him carry this around for the rest of his life."

Uncle Irving trembled. He looked to Mom, then over the edge, then to Mom again as she held out her hand.

"Irving . . . please."

He half-breathed, half-sobbed, looked out at the sea of lights covering Bangkok, then stepped away from the parapet.

"Adelaide . . . Adelaide, I'm so sorry."

Mom threw her arms around Uncle Irving and hugged him tight. "No. I'm sorry. Please let me help you, Irving. Please let me make this right. Please."

Uncle Irving nodded as he cried into Mom's shoulder. Rosa wiped away her tears and hugged her uncle from behind.

A few minutes later the three headed back down to the floor containing Jared's room. Mom, with a hand on Uncle Irving's back, guided him to the bench where Dad sat. Once Uncle Irving sat, she whispered something in Dad's ear. An incredulous look spread over his face. He then looked over to Uncle Irving and patted his shoulder. Uncle Irving turned to him and nodded.

Rosa rubbed Uncle Irving's arm as Mom walked away, her heels clicking rapidly on the floor. She turned quickly and went into the women's restroom.

Swallowing, Rosa gave her uncle one last pat on the shoulder and headed down the hall. She placed a hand on the bathroom door, hesitating. Holding her breath, she pushed open the door.

Water poured out of the middle sink. Her mother leaned over it, gripping the sides, and crying.

A quiver went through Rosa's insides. This was not a sight she was used to seeing. Her mother almost never cried.

Mom rotated her head toward her. Tear stains covered her cheeks.

"Mom . . ." Rosa's mouth hung open, unsure what to say.

"I almost killed him." Mom sobbed. "My own brother, and I almost killed. I just thought . . . I only wanted . . . You were right. You and Jared were both right. You have every right to hate me. I am an evil hag. How else could I do what I did?"

"I don't hate you, Mom. I don't. I . . ." Tears streamed from her eyes. A sob escaped her lips.

Rosa hurried across the bathroom. Mom pushed away from the sink and wrapped her in a tight embrace.

"I'm sorry, Mom. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay. It's okay."

Rosa thought back to just a couple hours ago back in America. She'd been yelling at her mother, saying she didn't need her for anything, saying she would have been better off being raised by trolls.

Those memories made her cry harder.

She had no idea how long they'd been hugging and crying when the door to the restroom opened. Rosa turned around and saw Mireet standing in the doorway.

"Oh. Um . . ." The French witch looked rather embarrassed. "I am sorry to bother you."

"No. No, that's okay, Mireet." Mom wiped at her eyes. "What is it?"

"I just wanted to let you know, the healer just told us Jared is awake."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	2. Peace Offerings

**CHAPTER 2: PEACE OFFERINGS **

* * *

The simple act of opening his eyes proved painful to Jared Diaz. Every millimeter he opened his eyes, his head pounded, to the point he feared his skull would explode. He groaned, trying to force his eyelids all the way up, praying the pain would stop. He put a hand on his forehead and rubbed, not that it helped.

Someone spoke, though not in a language he understood. He blinked, then grimaced. Merlin's beard, his head hurt.

The world slowly came into focus. He was lying on a bed in a plain white room. A hospital? What was he doing here? He then noticed a dumpy middle-aged woman in white robes standing by the door. She said something he couldn't make out. It all sounded like high-pitched gibberish. Maybe his throbbing head prevented him from understanding her.

_No wait. I'm in Thailand. She's speaking Thai._

"Where . . . Where am I?" he mumbled in Thai.

The woman answered him back, but Jared still couldn't understand her. Merlin, he'd been in this country almost a year and he'd only learned a few basic phrases of Thai. Then again, he'd pretty much made himself a social outcast at the excavation site, so he didn't have much opportunity to learn the local lingo.

The woman, undoubtedly a nurse, made a sour face and left the room. Jared groaned and tried to sit up.

_How the hell did I get here?_ He scrunched his forehead – that hurt – trying to think back. Best he could remember, he'd been in his room, doing something. What? For some reason, faces flashed before his mind's eye, faces that took him a few seconds to recognize. Gregory Lancemore. Ron Weasley. Why would he be thinking about them?

_A dream. I think I was having a dream._

He held his breath as he remembered. The Daydream Charm. He'd been using a Daydream Charm. But something happened. The daydream didn't feel right. For some reason people from Hogwarts had been mingling with people from the Salem Witches Institute. Then . . . damn, for the life of him he couldn't remember what happened after that.

A slender man with angular features and wearing red and white robes entered the room. "Mister Diaz?"

"Uh-huh."

"I am glad to see you are awake," the man said in pretty good English. "I am Healer Nakphut. You are at the Muamok Magical Hospital in Bangkok."

"What? Hospital? How did I end up here?"

"From what we can determine, you overindulged yourself on a Daydream Charm. It put you in a coma for a short time. One of your co-workers found you and alerted us."

Jared just stared at the healer. Coma? He'd been in a coma? "Seriously?"

"Yes." Nakphut nodded.

Disbelief overwhelmed Jared. A coma. The mere word sent a shiver up his spine. A coma was something people were in for a long time. Sometimes they never woke up from it. Merlin's beard, he'd really been in one? From the Daydream Charm?

"How are you feeling?" asked Nakphut.

"My head hurts."

"That is not surprising. It should pass. You were very lucky. Our examination showed no sign of brain damage, but some aspects of your memory might be . . . what is your word, um, impaired, perhaps?"

"Yeah, I am having trouble remembering what happened before I blacked out."

"We are certain your memories will fully return. Meanwhile, are you well enough to see visitors?"

"Visitors?" Jared's brow furrowed. "I don't know anyone in this country who'd want to visit me."

"Actually, your visitors are not from here. Your family from America arrived by port key a few hours ago."

Jared's eyes widened. His family? Did he mean Dad and Esteban? Rosa, perhaps? Apprehension gripped him. Did they know he wound up in a coma because of a Daydream Charm? Did they think him stupid? Would they yell at him? For a second he considered telling Nakphut not to let them in. He didn't think he could deal with the embarrassment. But if they came all this way to see him . . .

Shoulders slumped, he nodded to the healer.

"Very well. I will get them."

Nakphut exited the room. Jared's chest tightened as he eyed the door. His palms sweated as he waited for someone from his family to come through the door. He imagined the disappointment in the eyes of his father and older brother. Part of him prayed the door stay closed.

Minutes later it opened. Jared stiffened, pressing himself back into the pillow.

At first he didn't recognize the man that entered his hospital room. With that sullen, unshaven face, robes that hung from a body much thinner than he was used to seeing, it didn't seem possible the man before him could be his father.

_Merlin's beard. _Jared swallowed. _He looks worse than the last time I saw him._

Another person trailed Dad into the room. His brother, Esteban. He, too, wore a sullen expression, though nowhere near as pronounced as Dad's.

"Um . . . hey," Jared muttered, averting his eyes. Tension knotted his shoulders. He braced for the verbal onslaught, the questioning of his intelligence, his judgment, with words like "fool" and "idiot" sprinkled in for good measure.

But the room was silent, save for the footsteps, which drew closer. Neck muscles tightened, Jared forced himself to look up.

Dad stood over him, his right cheek twitching, tears glistening in his eyes.

Again, Jared averted his eyes, embarrassment crushing him. For a moment, he wished he could have remained in that coma. Better that than having his father think him stupid.

Two hands gripped his shoulders and pulled him forward. His eyes widened as Dad sniffled and pulled him into a tight hug.

"Jared." Dad rocked him back-and-forth like a small child. "Oh Merlin, Jared. I was so . . . I'm so glad you're all right."

The shock overwhelmed him. He and Dad had never been much into hugging one another. But under the circumstances . . .

Jared slowly snaked his arms around his father's back. Dad sobbed, loudly. Jared's throat constricted. Moisture welled up in his eyes.

_Oh man, don't cry. Don't . . ._

A tear slid down his cheek.

"I'm sorry, Dad." His words sounded strangled. "I'm so sorry."

"No. It's my fault. I should have done more, been there more for you and Esteban. I just let . . . it's just been so hard without your mother."

Jared tightened his hold on Dad. "I should have been around, too." More tears slipped from his eyes. "I shouldn't have just run off to Thailand and . . . I'm sorry. I was stupid, and I . . . I kept . . ."

"No." Dad pulled away, but still gripped Jared's shoulders. "No, we don't have to talk about it now. Just . . . I'm just glad you're all right. We can talk when you're feeling better."

Relief swept through Jared. He didn't say a word, just nodded at his father.

Esteban approached his bed and gently gripped Jared's biceps. "Glad to see you're doing all right. You had us worried, little brother."

Jared's jaw tightened. He couldn't help but wonder what Dad and Esteban must have went through when they heard he was in a coma.

_How would you feel if the same thing happened to them?_

"I feel like an idiot."

"Don't." Esteban offered him a supportive smile. "Like Dad said. We can talk about all this later, when you're up to it."

"Yeah, sure. Thanks."

"Um, look," Dad said. "There are some other people outside who'd like to see you, too. Do you want me to send them in, or do you want to get some more rest?"

"No, I'm good. Send them in."

Dad hugged him again. "I'll talk to you soon." He stood up and led Esteban out of the room.

Jared settled back in his bed, eyeing the door, wondering who'd come through next.

Barely a minute had passed when the door opened. A slender, athletic girl with black, curly hair down to her shoulders and small, shiny studs in her ears entered. A smile slowly spread across his face as Rosa started toward him.

That smile faded when he saw the two people behind his cousin. Aunt Adelaide and Uncle Cesario.

Apprehension built up inside him. He hadn't seen or talked to his aunt or uncle since that day he stormed into Aunt Adelaide's office at the Aurors Bureau and lit into her for recommending Dad's dismissal from SMACRAT. When he thought of how his father looked, his disconnect from the world since his mother's death, that apprehension was replaced by anger.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he was about to say to them. Those words never left his mouth as Rosa asked, "How are you feeling?"

His gaze shifted from Rosa's parents to Rosa herself. "Better."

She nodded and sat on the edge of his bed. The tension returned to Jared. If anyone was going to yell at him for overindulging on a Daydream Charm, it would be Rosa.

_I don't know. Maybe I deserve it._

Rosa took a couple deep breaths before speaking. "You really scared me, you know? When I heard you were in a coma, I . . . I mean . . ."

Jared swallowed. It was a rare event to see his cousin so speechless. "I'm sorry, Rosa. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"Well you did." Her face stiffened. She then shook her head. "Why, Jared? Using a Daydream Charm so much. Why?"

He sighed and stared down at the blanket covering him below the waist. Embarrassment swelled inside him again. What would Rosa think if he told her the truth?

_Then don't. Make up something._

He frowned. That wouldn't work, either. Ever since they were kids, Rosa could always tell when he was lying.

Drawing a breath, he returned his gaze to her. "It . . . It was just easier."

Rosa furrowed her brow. "What do you mean?"

"Just . . . It was just easier to slip into some made-up world than deal with all the crap in real-life." He frowned and shook his head. "I spent all those months watching Dad get worse, not being able to do a thing to help him. Not . . ." His jaw trembled. "Not knowing if he even wanted my help. Then I come here to Thailand, thought it might get my mind off everything. But I didn't get along with anyone in the expedition, and this girl they made my assistant . . . yeah, I know. Me with an assistant. What's this world coming to?"

A grin flashed across Rosa's face.

Jared continued. "This girl, Tasanee. I told her I was having family problems, then she kept badgering me about it, saying how families should stick together and work things out and all that stuff."

"Sounds like she was trying to help."

He shrugged. "I guess. I don't know, I just wasn't in the mood for it. I kept brushing her off, and . . . well . . . Aw man, you're gonna be pissed at me."

"What?"

Jared slowly worked his jaw back and forth. "I . . . I yelled at this one time. Told her to leave me alone, and . . . I made her cry." His voice trailed off with the last four words.

"Jared." Disappointment spread across Rosa's face.

"I know. I'm sorry, okay. I didn't wanna do that, but she kept going on about my family issues and I didn't wanna hear it. I mean, I was trying to forget about all that stuff, and here she was, constantly reminding me about it. So I yelled at her. She barely talked to me after that, even when we were working together. Can't say I blame her. I wouldn't want to talk to me after that. But . . . after that, I just . . . I can't ever remember feeling so alone in my life."

"Then why didn't you Floo call me?" Rosa asked. "Or write to me?"

"I don't know. I don't think I wanted to talk to anyone about all this. Just easier to cast a charm and make up my own pretend world." He sank deeper into his pillow. "But that's the way it's always been with me, huh? When responsibility rears its ugly head, I run and hide."

"What are you talking about?" Rosa cocked her head to one side. "Look at everything you did during the war. How can you say you shirked your responsibilities?"

"C'mon, Rosa. I was just another wand during the war. Hex this Death Eater, curse that Death Eater. No problem. But the really big decisions, all the big problems that cropped up, you and Jimmy handled 'em. And I was glad about it. I . . . I was always afraid if I was put in charge of something, I'd mess it up. And in war, if I messed up, people would die. I couldn't deal with that. What do I know about leading people in battle? What do I know about helping people with personal problems? I don't know what to say to them. That's . . . that's what happened with Dad. I wanted to help him. I really did. But what do you say to make someone feel better after they lost their wife . . . and my mother? I still don't feel better, and I don't know of a single word that can make it feel better. If I don't know how to get over this myself, how can I help Dad through it?"

"You don't have to worry about that, Jared." Aunt Adelaide stepped closer to his bed. "I'm going to help your father. Whatever it takes, no matter how long it takes. I'm going to help him."

Jared just stared at his aunt, his chest slowly rising and falling. His eyes narrowed. "About time you did something."

"Jared . . ." Uncle Cesario moved toward his bed, anger lines etched in his face.

"Cesario, no." Aunt Adelaide pressed a hand against her husband's chest. She then turned back to Jared. "I know the last time we saw one another, things weren't . . . very pleasant. You may still hate me, Jared, but if you don't believe another word I say, please believe this. I will help your father get better."

He wanted to believe her. Actually, deep down, he did. He prayed Aunt Adelaide could help his father.

_Help him with a problem she caused._

Jared felt his face tighten into a mask of anger. Even if Aunt Adelaide did help Dad, he doubted he could ever forgive her for what she'd done to him in the first place.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	3. A Fresh Start

**CHAPTER 3: A FRESH START**

* * *

Jared fell asleep shortly after Rosa and her parents left his room. When he woke up, sunlight streamed through the blinds of the lone window. He tried to remember if he had dreamed, but couldn't.

_Maybe it's good if I don't dream. That's how I wound up here in the first place._

Minutes later the door opened and the middle-aged nurse entered, levitating a tray of food with her. Jared studied it as it floated in front of him. The contents included a bowl of Chok, or rice porridge, a bowl of noodle soup, a small plate of cucumbers and a glass of water.

His stomach grumbled. How long had it been since he last ate? Snatching his spoon, he dug in with gusto. The food tasted a bit bland, as he heard hospital food usually was, but at least it ended the hollow feeling in his stomach.

He'd just finished his last cucumber when the nurse returned. "Visitors?"

"Huh? Oh yeah. Sure." He nodded.

The nurse disappeared. Less than a minute later two familiar people entered the room.

"Hey, guys." A smile spread across Jared's face as Artimus and Jenna walked up to his bed.

"How are you feeling?" Artimus asked as the two shook hands.

"Better. My head still feels like a troll's squeezing it, but the healers say I'll be fine eventually."

"Well, we're just glad you're okay." Jenna leaned down and gave him a peck on the cheek.

"Thanks." His eyes remained on Artimus' girlfriend. "Wait a sec. Did you actually come here by port key with the others?"

Jenna scowled. "Yeah, I did. This was an emergency, so I decided to brave it. I screamed my damn head off when that wind started. Then when I landed, I threw up. I swear, I don't know how you people deal with those things."

"Eh." Jared shrugged. "After a few times, you get used to it."

"Yeah, well I can tell you I'm not looking forward to the return trip."

Jared gave her a sympathetic smile.

"So, um . . ." Artimus bit his lip. "This Daydream Charm. How long have you been using it?"

After a long sigh, he responded, "A few months after I got here. I just . . . it was just better to be in my own little fantasy world, even for a little while, than deal with all the crap in the real world. Wish I knew your secret, Art."

"What do you mean?"

"C'mon. Out of all of us, you came out of the war the least messed up."

"I don't know about that." Artimus frowned. "I still miss Hector. I still have nightmares, watching . . . watching him get hit by that Killing Curse, and I couldn't do a thing about it."

Artimus lowered his head. Jenna placed a hand on his back.

Jared's eyes flickered between the two. He realized that's how Artimus had remained so well-adjusted. He had Jenna. A smile flashed across his face. Happiness for his friend surged through him. Unfortunately, and he hated to admit it, so did jealousy. He wished he had a girl that loving and supportive by his side.

_Maybe if I did, I wouldn't be so screwed up._

They continued talking, mainly catching up with one other. Artimus had a new project at the Office of Wizarding-Muggle Relations, to develop official guidelines for wizards and witches when making first contact with the parents of Muggle-borns. Jenna was taking nursing classes at a college in Virginia, and her sister Samantha was getting top marks in most of her classes at Fantimoor.

"Glad to hear things are going well for you guys," Jared said. "Wish I could say the same, but, well, everything's sucked for me since I set foot in Thailand."

"Then why not come back to the U.S. if you're not happy here?" asked Jenna.

He gave a non-committal grunt. It wasn't like things had been that great for him back home. But after seeing his father earlier this morning, and the shape he was in, how could he remain in Thailand?

_And if I do go back, how do I help him?_

Artimus and Jenna soon departed to allow another pair of visitors in. Jared pressed his back into the pillow, waiting for the door to open.

When it did, his breath caught in his throat. He gawked at the lean, brown-haired young man who'd entered the room.

"J-Jimmy?" He continued staring at Jimmy O'Bannon. For a moment, he feared he might be hallucinating. Hadn't Jimmy left the Wizarding World for good?

He blinked repeatedly. Jimmy still stood before him, along with a tall, beautiful young woman with long blond hair.

"Hey, Jared," Jimmy said, though without the usual assuredness in his voice.

Jared took a breath and found his voice again. "Man, I never thought I'd see you again." Something niggled the back of his head. Hadn't Artimus Flooed him yesterday and told him Jimmy planned to return to the Wizarding World? Or had that been a dream? Merlin, his memories of the last couple of days were still a mess.

"Yeah, I, um . . . I decided to come back." Jimmy's gaze dropped to the floor.

"Are you feeling well?" Mireet Miradeaux asked Jared.

"Getting there. How're you guys doing?"

"I am well," the French witch replied.

He switched his gaze to Jimmy. His friend's shoulders slumped as he answered. "I'm . . . doing okay."

The corners of Jared's mouth twisted. "You sure about that? You don't sound it."

Jimmy sighed. "Yeah, well I guess things could be better. I mean, I'm doing okay with the Komets, that's my hockey team. But . . . I just wanted to get away from this world to forget about the war and all the crap that happened. Instead, I couldn't stop thinking about the war. I kept having flashbacks and nightmares all the time. So then I tried to forget about it by drinking, a lot. That seemed to make things even worse."

Paralysis gripped Jared. He couldn't believe he was hearing this from Jimmy. The guy had always been a rock, brimming with the sort of self-confidence he'd always wanted himself. He wished the Jimmy O'Bannon standing before him had been a hallucination. He just didn't want to accept the fact the real Jimmy could be so broken.

Jimmy drew a deep breath and looked up at him. "I'm sorry, Jared. I'm sorry I just left. You're one of my best bros. Hell, you were the first wizard my own age that I ever met, and I just dropped you. You and Rosa and Artimus . . . Mireet." He glanced at her. "I just dropped you like you were nothing. You deserve a better friend than me."

"C'mon, man. You don't have to apologize to me. I ran out on everyone, too. And looked where it got me." He waved his hand around the hospital room.

Jimmy chewed on his lip before slowly lifting his hand. "Friends?"

"Always, man."

A hint of a smile flashed across Jimmy's face as the two shook hands.

"So are you back to stay or what?" Jared asked.

"I don't know. I mean, I'm not gonna ignore you guys any more, I can tell you that. But I am gonna finish out the season with the Komets. I can't walk out on my team . . . again. Hell, we've already qualified for the playoffs. Can't miss out on that. But once the season is over . . . I don't know. I got a lot of thinking to do."

Jared nodded. "Hey, whatever you decide, I'm cool with it."

Jimmy smiled. "Thanks, man."

A few minutes later Jimmy and Mireet departed. Jared slept on and off throughout the morning. A couple times Healer Nakphut came in to check on him.

"You seem to be improving," the man said as his wand created a halo of various colors around Jared's head. "Your brain functions are almost back to normal, and it appears the intensity of your headaches is lessening."

"I'll take that as good news."

About a half-hour after Healer Nakphut left, the nurse came in with his lunch. Shortly after he finished eating, Rosa poked her head inside.

"Hey, Cuz."

"Hey." He nodded to her. "What's up?"

"Oh, I just thought you'd like to know there's someone else here who wants to see you."

"Who is it?" He furrowed his brow, wondering what other family member or close friend could have come all the way to Thailand to see him.

Rosa pushed the door open all the way. She stepped aside, and a short, thin Thai girl with long black hair and delicate features entered the room.

Jared's eyes widened. "Ta . . . Tasanee?"

"Hello, Jared." She shot him a quick smile.

"I thought you might want to thank the person who probably saved your life," Rosa said.

"Huh?" He then remembered what the healer had told him, that he'd been found by a co-worker after he collapsed. "It was you? You found me?"

"That's right." Tasanee nodded.

Rosa's head swiveled from Tasanee to him. "Well, I think I'll leave you two alone. I'll see you later, Jared." She gave him a parting smile and left the room.

Tension coiled around him as he stared at Tasanee. The veins in his neck stuck out as he recalled that day he blew up at her and made her cry. He averted his eyes from her, shame filling his soul.

"How are you feeling?" Tasanee asked as she approached his bed.

"Um . . . I'm doing okay." He barely glanced at her. "I'm still having headaches, but the healer says they should go away soon."

"That's good."

Jared rolled his tongue from side-to-side. "Um, so you were the one who found me?"

"Yes. Prajak sent me to find you." She referred to the man in charge of the expedition to the Khmer wizarding village. "He said he was waiting to receive a scroll you were supposed to translate. I looked all over the camp for you and couldn't find you, so I went to your tent, and that's where I found you lying on the floor. So I levitated you to the communal tent and Flooed you to the hospital. One of the healers said if I hadn't found you when I did, well . . ."

A shudder went through his stomach. He stared at Tasanee. "I can't believe you did that for me." His voice was barely audible.

"What do you mean? Do you really think I would simply leave you lying on the floor?"

"Why not? Ever since Prajak made you my assistant, I've . . . I've been nothing but an asshole to you. I've ignored you, been rude to you, yelled at you, and all you did was just show a little concern for me. You didn't deserve to be treated like that."

Tasanee frowned as she edged closer to his bed. "In fairness, I probably made a nuisance of myself, the way I kept bothering you to tell me about your family problems. But . . . I had some problems in my family, and they did not end well."

"What happened?"

Tasanee looked at the bed, then at him. Jared nodded and she sat on the edge of the bed.

"Neither of Lord Voldemort's wars affected us very much in Thailand," she began. "We had some Death Eaters here, but not in large numbers. They would terrorize a village or kidnap wizards and witches from time to time, but they were never powerful enough to overthrow the government like they did in Great Britain. Unfortunately, there was another group of dark wizards and witches we had to deal with."

Tasanee paused for a second. "Have you ever heard of a Muggle named Pol Pot?"

"No."

"He was the leader of Muggle Cambodia for a time, and a very evil man. He tried to create a pure, agrarian society by forcing people from their cities and murdering anyone he deemed a threat to his plans, such as people who worked for the government or believed in any form of religion or who simply went to school."

Jared's face scrunched in disbelief. "Merlin's beard, this guy sounds like a whackjob. How many people did he kill?"

"Millions."

He grimaced. _This Pol Pot sounds as bad as Voldemort. _"So what did this crazy Muggle have to do with Wizarding Thailand?"

"You know how Wizarding leaders inform Muggle leaders of the existence of our world? When Cambodia's Minister of Magic introduced himself to Pol Pot, he viewed wizards and witches as a threat. He formed a special group of agents to locate any magical people. They tortured thousands of people, some of them family members of Muggle-borns or half-bloods. They did horrible things to them to get them to talk. Pol Pot's thugs rounded up several Muggle-borns and half-bloods, usually invading their homes while they slept and catching them before they could get their wands. Some were killed, others were brainwashed to believe Pol Pot's insane ideas and sent back to the Wizarding World to start a revolution. They succeeded."

Jared stared at her, mouth agape. He couldn't believe a Muggle could do something like that. Yeah, he knew nutcases like Adolf Hitler and Josef Stalin had tried to interfere in the wizarding affairs, both times to their regret. How the hell did this Pol guy pull it off?

Tasanee continued. "They called themselves the Enlightened Guard. They recruited many Muggle-borns and half-bloods who were not very successful in school or in their work and convinced them all purebloods were exploiting them and ultimately wanted to make them their slaves. The war went on for years, and spread to Wizarding Vietnam, Laos and Thailand. They were finally defeated, but not before thousands of people died."

"Merlin's beard." Jared shook his head. "I never realized you had it so bad here." He tried to remember if Miss Venatici ever covered these Enlightened Guard psychos in History of Magic class at Salem. The name didn't sound familiar. Then again, he'd never been a big history buff like Jimmy.

A sullen look came over Tasanee's face. "The Enlightened Guard could match any Death Eater when it came to cruelty. Even today, when people say their name, they say it with disdain."

She paused. "When I was twelve, my older sister, Vipada, married a man named Meesang. They both worked in our Aurors Department. Meesang's parents had both been suspected members of the Enlightened Guard. They were never convicted because of a lack of evidence, but anyone even suspected of being associated with the Enlightened Guard was looked upon with suspicion. Meesang told my parents that he never agreed with his parents beliefs, and that he ran away from home when his parents started abusing him. It didn't matter to my parents . . . or me." Her voice weakened with those last two words. "My father lost both his parents and his brother during the war with the Enlightened Guard. He couldn't accept having someone associated with them in our family. My parents disowned Vipada, and . . . and I went along with them in hating her."

Her jaw trembled. "After Voldemort conquered England and staged uprisings in other countries, the few Death Eaters in this country allied themselves with the remaining members of the Enlightened Guard and convinced them to come out of hiding and renew their fight against the wizarding governments in Southeast Asia. They launched a few attacks throughout the region. Then three months before Voldemort was killed, the Death Eaters and Enlightened Guard attacked the Ministry of Magic in Bangkok. My sister and her husband fought in that battle and . . . and they were both killed."

Tasanee's shoulders convulsed. A tear rolled down her cheek.

"Tasanee, I'm so sorry." Jared reached out and gently grasped her wrist.

"Thank you." She sniffled. "I still feel awful. She was my sister, and I hated her for so long. We never gave Meesang a chance. All we heard was his parents may have been part of the Enlightened Guard, and that was enough for us to hate him. All his railing against the Guard's beliefs, the fact there were those in the Aurors Department willing to give him a chance, none of that mattered to us. Yet Meesang and my sister died fighting them. I never talked to Vipada, or saw her, after she married Meesang. I never . . . I'll never have the chance to apologize to her."

Jared's jaw tightened. He squeezed Tasanee's wrist as she wiped her eyes with her free hand.

"That's why I kept trying to get you to talk about your family problems," she said. "I was afraid you might hate someone in your family and something may happen to them before you could reconcile. I thought maybe I could help."

"I'm so sorry." He rubbed his thumb back and forth on Tasanee's wrist. "I'm sorry I was so horrible to you. Please forgive me."

She turned to him, her eyes glistening. "I forgive you."

An airy feeling formed in Jared's chest. A smile slowly spread across his face.

"Um, you know, maybe we can start over."  
"What do you mean?" A perplexed look came over her.

"You know, have a fresh start. Wipe the slate clean. Pretend the last few months never happened." He removed his hand from Tasanee's wrist, feeling a flicker of disappointment as he did so. "Hi, I'm Jared Diaz." He held out his hand.

Tasanee focused on his hand. She laughed for a second, then shook his hand. "I'm Tasanee Nakaihat."

**XXXXX**

It was early afternoon when O'Bannon and the others left the Muamok Magical Hospital and returned to their hotel. Mr. Infante had booked them rooms at the Dunhaitu Hotel in the center of the Duphumph District, Bangkok's version of Milmothryn Market in Boston. The hotel resembled numerous thatched huts made of ornate white stone reaching ten stories in height. The rooms were spacious with old-fashioned brass beds, overstuffed chairs and sofas, and a personal servant elf, or whatever the proper Thai term was.

_Knowing the United States Secretary of Magic certainly has its perks._

After taking a shower, O'Bannon put on a pair of gray sweatpants and a Dropkick Murphys t-shirt and stretched out on the bed, hoping to go to sleep.

But sleep wouldn't come. Instead he just stared at the ceiling, going over the events of the last twenty-four hours. Two images stuck out in his mind the most. Mr. Infante's head hovering in the green Floo flames at Artimus' apartment, informing him Jared had fallen into a coma, then seeing Jared in the hospital.

_Coma._ The word itself frightened him. All the while when he was packing, and when Mireet was conjuring a Confundus Charm to make the Fort Wayne Komets coach and general manager give him a few days off to deal with a "family emergency," he couldn't stop thinking, _what if Jared dies?_ His stomach had collapsed into a black hole, a hole that quickly filled with dread. He'd lost too many friends over the past three years. He didn't want to lose another, especially a friend he'd abandoned.

_A friend? Face it, O'Bannon, you abandoned _all _your friends._

Someone knocked on the door.

"I shall get it, Sir." A small gray creature with a bulbous head and tennis ball-sized eyes, and wearing golden robes, dashed across the room. "Let Lulbly get the door for you, Sir."

The room's servant elf, whom O'Bannon learned could speak about fourteen different languages, stopped in front of the door and snapped his fingers. The door opened.

"Hello." Mireet nodded and smiled at the elf.

"Greetings, Madam Miradeaux. Welcome to the room of Master O'Bannon. Does Madam Miradeaux wish to see Master O'Bannon?"

"_Oui."_

"Let her in, Lulbly."

"Yes, Sir. As you wish, Sir."

The elf stood aside and let Mireet stride into the room.

"Lulbly shall leave Master O'Bannon and Madam Miradeaux alone. Lulbly must now go polish the bathroom sink." The elf bounced on the balls of his little feet.

"Knock yourself out, little buddy."

Lulbly winced. "Um, if that is what Sir desires."

Mireet gasped. O'Bannon's eyes widened in realization. _Oh crap!_

Before he could say anything, Lulbly lowered his head and ran full speed into the wall. The elf swayed then fell to the floor.

"Lulbly, no!" O'Bannon sprang off the bed. Mireet was already kneeling beside the dazed elf, gently rubbing his bald head, when he reached him.

"Lulbly, I'm sorry. I didn't mean knock yourself out literally. It's just an expression Muggles use. I meant go enjoy yourself cleaning the sink."

Lulbly shook his head and looked up at him. "Master O'Bannon does not want Lulbly to do himself injury?"

"No. Absolutely not. You are not allowed to run into the wall any more. Just go clean sink."

"Oh, thank you, Master O'Bannon. Lulbly does not like pain. Pain hurts. Lulbly will now clean the sink, and will enjoy cleaning the sink as you command."

The elf jumped to his feet, showing no ill effects of ramming his head into the wall. He then skipped off to the bathroom.

O'Bannon shook his head as he rose to his feet. He turned to Mireet. "I guess I have been away from this world too long. I forgot how literally servant elves take you. I'm just glad he's all right."

"Thankfully, elves are very resilient creatures," Mireet said.

"That they are. So, what's up?"

"_Monsieur _Infante wanted me to let you know we will all be gathering in the lobby in a half-hour to go to dinner before we return to the hospital to see Jared."

"Thanks. I'll go get ready."

He started to turn, then stopped, staring at the wall.

"Is something wrong?"

He looked back at Mireet, concern etched in her beautiful face. He sighed. "Yeah. Something is wrong."

O'Bannon walked back to his bed and sat down. Mireet joined him. He clasped his hands together on his lap and worked his jaw back and forth.

"He could have died, Mireet. Jared could have died."

"But he did not. The healer says he will be fine."

"But what if he did die?" He whipped his head toward her. "What if that assistant he has found him like an hour or two later? And what if you didn't decide to come to Fort Wayne to see me? What if you all decided to forget about me like I tried to forget about all of you? Jared could have died and I wouldn't have known a thing about it. He's one of my best friends. How could I not know what was going on with him all this time? How could I not know he hated it here, that he was addicted to Daydream Charms, that his dad was getting worse? What the hell kind of friend am I?"

Mireet took hold of O'Bannon's clasped hands and gave them a reassuring squeeze.

He shook his head. "I have no idea what's going on with anyone. My friends from Salem, our friends over in England. Do Dante Marshall or Ursa Oberlin have nightmares about Helghorst Island? Are they as messed up as me or Jared? How's George doing? It's been almost two years since Fred died? Is he any better dealing with it? Heck, I don't even know if Harry and Ginny or Dean and Luna are married. All these years I spent talking about how we were a team, how we're all like family, how we all need to stick together. Then what do I do? I run out on everyone. Talk about a hypocrite."

"I am sure all your friends understand."

"I'm not so sure. You saw how Rosa lit into me when I showed up at Art's apartment. You remember the way George reacted when I told him I was leaving the Wizarding World. How many other friends think I betrayed them?"

O'Bannon drew a slow breath. "I gotta do something. I gotta make things right."

"What do you plan to do?"

He sat up straight before answering. "Soon as the season's over for the Komets, I'm gonna spend the summer rebuilding all the bridges I burned. Ask all my friends for forgiveness, both in the US and in Britain."

He stared into Mireet's eyes, then disentangled his fingers and placed one hand on top of hers. "Mireet, I'd like you to come with me."

She didn't respond. In fact, it appeared as though she was holding her breath.

O'Bannon continued. "I know you have your own life, and I know I'm asking a lot, maybe too much, to have you follow me around for months. But . . . I don't . . ." He bit down on his lip until it hurt. "I don't think I can do this alone." He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I don't want to give you a guilt trip. I'll understand if it's too much -"

"I will go with you."

He froze, his unblinking eyes aimed at Mireet. "You . . . You will?"

"After everything we have been through, if you want my help, you shall have it. Wherever you go, I will be with you, no matter how long this takes."

A lump formed in O'Bannon's throat. He squeezed Mireet's hand tighter. He tried to say something. He _had _to say something. But no words came to mind. What could he say? He had turned his back on her nine months ago, yet she was willing to help him make amends with all his friends. What had he done to deserve this sort of commitment from Mireet?

He hugged her, burying his face in her hair. Tears welled up in his eyes. He clenched his teeth to keep them in check.

"Thank you," he managed to say in a strangled voice.

"We are in this together. Always."

When they separated, O'Bannon gazed at Mireet's face. His chest tightened as the urge to kiss her surged through him. He pushed it down. Merlin's beard, he so wanted to kiss her, and he figured Mireet felt the same way. But no, he didn't want to do it yet. He still needed to get all his crap together. He wanted everything just right between them when they got around to being intimate.

"So who do you want to reconcile with first?" asked Mireet.

"I got someone in mind. Actually, two people, and not so much to reconcile. I just kept so much from them over the past few years. Even after the war, I never told them everything I did or how I got involved with all of it in the first place. But I think it's about time they hear the whole truth."

O'Bannon's face tightened into a mask of determination. "As soon as the season's over, the first people I'm going to talk with are my parents."

_**NEXT: A MUGGLE POINT OF VIEW**_


	4. A Muggle Point Of View

**CHAPTER 4: A MUGGLE POINT OF VIEW**

* * *

_Location: Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters, London, England_

_Time Frame: The end of "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire."_

* * *

_You'd think I'd be used to this after six years._

Tension knotted Ellen O'Bannon's shoulders as she peered through her glasses at the scene before her. Hundreds of people crowded the station, or platform as they called it here in England. Most were dressed in robes or other clothing that looked straight out of the 19th Century.

Wizards and witches, all of them.

The tension spread throughout her entire body.

_Stop feeling uncomfortable. They're just people._

_People who can make stuff fly through the air or shrink things or knock you out with a flick of a wand._

Not that this was news to her, and not like any witch or wizard ever tried to do that to her or her husband Douglas. So why should she feel uncomfortable around them?

Ellen figured it had to do with the fact the Diazes and Infantes weren't around, like they always were at Pier SWI in Boston. But even she had to admit sometimes she felt a bit uneasy around them, and she considered them friends.

She let out a long breath. She tried her best to accept this world her son had become a part of. At times, she felt she succeeded. Then this nervous feeling would resurface.

She glanced around at the wizards and witches, thinking of all the things they could do. It made her feel powerless, insignificant. Even worse, after six years of exposure to this other world, there was so much she still didn't understand. When she heard Jimmy or Rosa or Jared or their parents talk about prophecies or the laws of transfiguration or goblin-made weapons that could only be used by certain people, she felt at a complete loss. Sometimes, it made her feel like an idiot, to the point she hesitated asking questions to the Infantes, the Diazes, their children, even her own son. She'd never forget one dinner conversation when Jimmy was thirteen, and he went on about his Care of Magical Creatures class. She had asked him, "What's this hippocampus thing you're talking about?"

"It's like a mermaid-horse, Mom." He said it like she should have known.

Times like that, she feared her son would grow apart from her and Douglas. After all, what advice could they give him about spells or potions or dealing with a hippocampus? She worked for the largest appraisal firm in Boston. She assessed property values. What did she know about magic? Sometimes she considered asking her niece Cassie if she could borrow her _Lord of the Rings _and _Narnia _novels. Maybe reading those could help her deal better with the Wizarding World. But those books were works of fiction. Would they really help her better understand a real magical world?

Ellen sighed. Once again, she wished Jimmy was just a normal boy. Part of her felt guilty for wishing that. He had become such good friends with Rosa, Jared and Artimus. They were wonderful kids and she would hate for Jimmy not to have them in his life. At the same time, it would be easier for her to deal with hockey games, proms, driver's licenses and picking a college than charms, potions and divination.

She gazed around the platform again. Her eyes settled on another group of people to her left. These men and women wore normal shirts and pants and dresses. The parents of Muggle-borns. Just like at Pier SWI, they tended to congregate with each other out of a sense of comfort. Usually she and Douglas stuck with the Diazes and Infantes while waiting for the _Salem Schooner _to arrive, but since they weren't here . . .

"Come on. Let's go over there." She took her husband's hand and led him toward the other Muggles. She glanced over her shoulder at the much larger crowd of magical people . . . and halted.

Her brow furrowed as she scanned the witches and wizards. Several huddled in small groups. Most didn't smile. In fact, they looked worried for some reason. A few shook their heads, and some spoke with emphatic hand gestures.

"Ellen?"

"Huh?" She turned and stared into the bearded face of her husband.

"You okay? Why did you stop?"

She bit her lip. "Douglas. Do you feel like something's wrong here?"

A quizzical look came over his face. "Wrong? What do you mean?"

"It's just . . . I don't know. Look at those wizards over there."

Douglas gazed at them for several seconds. He then shrugged. "I don't see anything wrong with them."

"But just look at them. Don't they seem worried?"

"Oh, come on, Ellen. It's just your imagination."

She started to open her mouth, then shut it. It would be useless to go on. Douglas had never been big on intuition.

They walked over to the other Muggles. A man with an oval-shaped head and receding brown-gray hair dressed in a polo shirt and slacks turned to them and smiled.

"New Muggles? I don't think I've seen you here before."

"Oh no. Our son's an exchange student at Hogwarts," Ellen answered. "He was only going there for this year."

"Oh, you're American." The man stuck out his hand. "Richard Granger, and this is my wife, Patricia."

"Ellen O'Bannon. This is my husband, Douglas."

They all shook hands.

"O'Bannon," Richard said. "Oh yes, I remember the name. You're son's Jimmy, right? Our daughter, Hermione, wrote about him. He put together that hockey game at Hogwarts."

"That was your son who did that?" A slender black woman with shoulder length hair stepped up to them. "My son played in that game. Oh, sorry. I'm Esther Thomas. My son's Dean."

Ellen relaxed as the conversation went on. Eventually they were joined by two other Muggle couples, the Creeveys and the Dobbses. They all asked why Jimmy decided to come to Hogwarts, what he thought of it and how he convinced so many wizards and witches to play hockey.

"I was delighted to hear they beat those Slytherins," Esther said. "Dean's in the same year as that Draco Malfoy. Just an evil, slimy git, Dean calls him. I've run across him a couple times when taking Dean to Diagon Alley. That boy looks at us like we were bugs who should be crushed."

"The father's no better." Patricia Granger turned to her husband. "Remember that time in Flourish and Blotts when he got in that fight with Ron's father."

"How could I forget? That man looked right at us and told Arthur, 'the company you keep, I thought your family couldn't sink any lower.' Next thing we knew, Arthur throws himself at that Malfoy imbecile, books went flying, shelves knocked over. They would have torn apart the entire store if that big bearded fellow – oh, what did Hermione say his name was? – Hagrid, that's it. If Hagrid hadn't pulled them apart."

Ellen scowled and shook her head. _And I thought the Mather family back at Salem was bad._

A loud whistle pieced the air. All heads turned to the tracks. A scarlet steam engine chugged into the platform, hauling several carriage cars with it. Excitement raced through Ellen. She scanned the windows, hoping for a glimpse of Jimmy. It had been nine months since she last saw him.

The crowd moved closer to the train as it rolled to a halt. A couple minutes later, the doors opened. Boys and girls streamed out, carrying their luggage. Parents and children greeted one another with hugs and kisses. Ellen's eyes darted back and forth, anxious to find her son.

There! He stepped off the third car behind a pair of tall, lanky redheaded boys. Going by Jimmy's letters, they had to be Fred and George, the "famous" Weasley twins. Her nose crinkled as she recalled the letters she received from Professor McGonagall.

_Dear Mr. & Mrs. O'Bannon,_

_Your son, Jimmy, was caught with Fred and George Weasley rigging dung bombs to the entrance for the Slytherin Dungeons . . ._

_Dear Mr. & Mrs. O'Bannon,_

_Your son, Jimmy, along with Fred and George Weasley, received a week's detention after dropping Vulcanus Bombs into the toilets of three lavatories . . ._

_Dear Mr. & Mrs O'Bannon,_

_Your son, Jimmy, assisted Fred and George Weasley and Lee Jordan in charming a Muggle device called a "Hoopy Cushion"_ _to make a most foul sound that embarrassed the heads of the two visiting schools participating in the Tri-Wizard Tournament . . ._

She shook her head. What would possess Jimmy to hang out with a pair of juvenile delinquents like that?

Jimmy and the twins stood off to the side of the door, and were soon joined by two other redheads, a boy and a girl, another girl with bushy brown hair, and a boy with mussed black hair and glasses. They all stood in a tight circle. Ellen studied them. Like the wizards and witches she'd seen before, Jimmy and the other kids looked rather serious, even a bit worried.

The little pow-wow broke up. Jimmy exchanged vigorous handshakes and/or hugs with each kid. He then caught her eye and waved. Ellen waved back, a smile spreading across her face as Jimmy headed over with the British kids in tow.

"Hey, Mom. Dad." He smiled and hugged them both.

"Hello," she said, hugging Jimmy tight. "Mm, we missed you so much."

"Same here." He introduced her and Douglas to the British kids. Along with the twins, there were their siblings, Ron and Ginny, the Grangers' daughter, Hermione, and Harry Potter. She remembered that name. The boy who killed some evil wizard when he was a baby.

Other boys and girls descended on Jimmy. Ellen tried to keep track of their names as Jimmy introduced them. Angelina Johnson. Something Bell. Something Boot. Someone else named Michael Comber, she thought. A lump formed in her throat. She was so happy Jimmy had made so many friends here. She'd worried about him a lot after his first couple of letters indicated things hadn't gone well for him his first few weeks at Hogwarts.

"Looks like you had quite an interesting time at Hogwarts," Douglas said as they started for the wrought-iron archway that would take them back to the Muggle train station.

"Yeah. Really interesting."

Something in Jimmy's tone made Ellen raise an eyebrow. "So everything was all right there?"

She watched his lips, his whole face, in fact, tighten for a moment. He then smiled and nodded. "Yeah, everything was fine."

Again, his tone didn't sit well with her. She started to open her mouth to ask another question.

"Oh, hello, Jimmy," a soft voice floated over them.

Ellen drew her head back as a girl with long dirty blond hair, yellow, green and purple robes, and, of all things, a hockey puck dangling from her neck, drifted in front of them.

"Hey, Luna." Jimmy greeted her.

"I just wanted to thank you for the hockey puck." She held it up before him. "It's doing a remarkable job keeping the wrackspurts away."

"Er, yeah. You're welcome."

"Well, it was nice getting to know you. Have a safe trip back to America. Good-bye, Jimmy. Good-bye, Jimmy's parents."

With unblinking eyes, Ellen watched the strange girl stroll off, with seemingly no particular destination in mind.

"Who was that?"

"Um, Luna Lovegood."

"You two have something going on?" Douglas asked.

Jimmy winced. "C'mon, Dad. I'm not that desperate."

"What's wrong with her?" Ellen asked.

"A lot."

She watched Luna wander into the crowd of magical people. Ellen caught sight of a few wizards and witches, clutching their sons or daughters by the shoulders, leaning in so their foreheads nearly touched, engaging in what appeared to be very serious conversations.

Again, that uneasy feeling crept over her skin.

She tensed as she followed the other Muggles and their children through the barrier. After a couple seconds of darkness, they found themselves in King's Cross, the Muggle train station. Jimmy said his final good-byes to the Muggle-borns he knew, then pushed his luggage trolley next to her and Douglas.

"Um, Jimmy?" Ellen bit her lip.

"Yeah, Mom?"

"Is there anything going on with them?" She nodded back toward Platform Nine-And-Three-Quarters.

Jimmy's face scrunched in confusion. "What'd you mean?"

"Well, it looked like some of those witches and wizards were, I don't know, nervous about something. Nothing bad happened at Hogwarts, did it?"

She could sense the tension radiating from Jimmy. His hands gripped the handle of the trolley tighter. Worry swirled inside Ellen's chest. She was about to ask him again when he took a quick breath and answered, "No. Everything was fine."

He looked away from her and pushed the trolley faster.

Ellen's jaw tightened. She watched the space between her and her son increase. Worry slithered through her chest. She knew, she just knew, Jimmy was keeping something from her. Something serious.

She wondered if he'd ever tell her about it.

**XXXXX**

_Location: Boston, Massachusetts, USA_

_Time Frame: The Present_

* * *

Ellen sneered as the traffic crept along the Mass Pike. _Wonderful. I'm going to be late. _

She crushed the mini-van's steering wheel as her foot alternated between the gas pedal and the brake. All sorts of nasty thoughts went through her head about superintendent for the Danvers school district. The idiot went on for nearly two hours picking apart her appraisal of the district's old bus depot property they wanted to sell.

"You do realize this district has a budget deficit that needs to be resolved," he had told her. "Given the condition of the facilities, its location, its value has to be much higher than what you have. Fifteen thousand dollars higher, at least."

She told him she made a fair assessment of the property.

He didn't believe her, and let her know it in rather strenuous terms.

Ellen took deep breaths as she came to her exit. She didn't want that idiot superintendent to ruin the rest of her day. She wanted to be happy. Jimmy was coming home.

Her muscles unraveled as the Boston cityscape gave way to the suburbs. She thought back to that day in July when Jimmy told her and Douglas that he would be playing professional hockey. It was a shame he'd have to be on a team halfway across the country, and they couldn't watch him play, but she couldn't have been happier for him. He'd come back from that wizarding war so different. Distant, brooding, prone to mood swings. Rarely did he joke or laugh. She had tried to get him to open up about what happened. The few times he relented, he didn't go into much detail, just that he experienced a lot of "bad things." At least now he was away from that world.

Or so she thought.

She sighed as she rolled up to a stop sign. She thought back to Jimmy's call a couple days ago, saying he'd be coming home, "And if it's cool, I'll be bringing a friend. She's one of those 'special' people."

She could read between the lines. She knew what "special people" meant.

Ellen shook her head. Just when she thought Jimmy was done with that world, he wound up getting involved with a witch. How the hell did he even meet one, living in the normal world, in Indiana of all places? Was this witch his girlfriend? How serious were they?

_If he's bringing her home with him, I doubt it's casual._

She wished Jimmy could have found a normal girl. If he was going out with a witch, Ellen feared her son would never get over everything that happened to him during the war.

She approached a red, two-story clapboard house, and saw Douglas' car in the driveway and Jimmy's car parked along the curb. She pulled the mini-van next to Douglas' car, got out and strode toward the front door. As soon as she entered the house, she scanned the living room. Douglas sat in his recliner. Across from him, sitting on the sofa, was Jimmy and . . .

Her eyes widened when she recognized the girl next to her son. None other than that French witch Jimmy had pined over since his year at Hogwarts. Mireet Miradeaux.

"Hey, Mom." Jimmy got up and walked over to her.

She smiled and gave him a crushing hug. "Jimmy. It's so good to see you again. Is everything okay? Did you have a good trip?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm good. The trip was fine. Mom, you remember Mireet?"

"Of course." She had to force a smile as she hugged the French witch. She didn't like feeling this way. Mireet had always come across as a wonderful girl. But she was still one of "those people."

"I'm sorry your team didn't win the championship," Ellen said as Jimmy and Mireet returned to the sofa.

"Yeah, it sucks." Jimmy shrugged. "But, we gave it a damn good shot, and Coach seemed pretty happy with how I played."

"That's good. Well, sorry I'm late. That meeting I had in Danvers went on longer than expected. Just give me a few minutes to change and I'll start dinner."

"Um, actually, Mom." Jimmy held up a hand. "If you could wait a couple minutes, there's um . . . there's something I need to talk to you guys about."

Ellen's brow furrowed. She studied her son. Worry blazed on his round face. "What's wrong?"

Jimmy shifted on the sofa. "Um, you may wanna sit down."

She looked over at Douglas. Her husband stared back at her, concern filling his eyes. Ellen seated herself on the high-back, red cushioned chair across from Douglas, her eyes locked on Jimmy.

"Jimmy, what is it?"

He let out a long sigh. Mireet took hold of one of his hands. Jimmy looked over to her. His shoulders stiffened, as though he was drawing strength from her.

Ellen chewed on her lower lip. "Does this have to do with the war?"

Jimmy's gaze fell to the floor. Mireet squeezed his hand tighter. After another long sigh, he looked back up, his eyes shifting between her and Douglas.

"Yeah. Yeah, it does. Um . . . there was some stuff that happened. Stuff I never told you about."

He drew a slow breath. "You know that I was part of the Guild of the Light during the war."

"Yeah." Douglas nodded.

"Well, I sort of led you to believe that I joined them after I graduated from Salem. That's not true." He paused. "I was working for the Guild over a year before that."

"What?" Ellen's eyes widened.

"Wait a minute." Douglas leaned forward in his chair. "Are you telling us you were fighting in the war while you were still in school?"

"Yeah. Actually, I was recruited . . . well, we were recruited," Jimmy glanced at Mireet, "when were over in England."

"Recruited?" Ellen's voice went up an octave. "By who?"

"Headmaster Dumbledore. Our last night there, he called me and Mireet into his office and asked for our help."

Ellen's mouth fell open. "Why would he want students to fight in a war?"

"We weren't supposed to do any fighting. We were supposed to identify students who may want to join us, and students who may want to join the other side, and try to convince people that Voldemort was really back."

"And Dumbledore made you do this?" Douglas asked.

"He didn't make us do anything, Dad. We volunteered."

"Why?" Ellen turned up her hands. "You were only, what, sixteen at the time? Why would you want to get involved in a war at sixteen?"

"Because Muggle-borns like me were at the top of Voldemort's hit list, along with all Muggles. I wasn't gonna just sit back and wait for him to come get me, especially after he murdered a Hogwarts student at the Tri-Wizard Tournament."

"What?" She jerked in shock. "A student was killed when you were at Hogwarts? You never told us this."

"I know. Because if I did, you would have freaked out."

"Jimmy, this was serious," Douglas said. "If some psychotic wizard killed one of your classmates, I think we'd have a right to know."

"Okay, maybe, Dad. But at the time, I didn't want to tell you because I was afraid you wouldn't let me go back to Salem."

"Well you'd be right about that," Ellen said. "There's no way I would have let you go back to school with that monster killing people." Paralysis gripped her for a moment. "My God. That was it."

"What was it?" A quizzical look came over Douglas' face.

"When we picked up Jimmy in London. I thought all those wizards and witches were worried about something. That was it, wasn't it?" She looked at her son. "That's what they were so worried about. That student who died."

Jimmy nodded. "Yeah. His name was Cedric Diggory. Just wrong guy, wrong place, wrong time."

Ellen slumped back in her chair. "So . . . so you were some sort of spy for Headmaster Dumbledore your last year at Salem?"

"That was the plan. But some stuff happened and I got a little more . . . involved in the fighting."

Her chest tightened. "What do you mean?"

She sat there, wide-eyed, as Jimmy told her and Douglas about an exchange student from Hogwarts infecting Salem with a potion that magnified people's jealousy a hundred-fold, to the point it caused a massive brawl at a school dance. Icy needles crept up her spine as she heard about Jimmy, Rosa, Jared, Artimus and this British woman Tonks fighting Death Eaters in Ovenderburg, how Jimmy was almost killed by a Constrictus Curse, how he wound up with a huge shard of ice piercing his calf.

"All of this happened to you, and no one at school told us about it?" Douglas' face reddened.

Ellen's hands crushed the armrests of her chair. She felt her eyes burn with rage. How could Headmistress Esmeralda not tell her some insane girl tried to murder her son?

"So anything else your headmistress didn't tell us?" Douglas' nostrils flared. "Any other near-death experiences you had that she didn't feel important enough to tell us about?"

Jimmy cringed. "Um, actually, yes."

He related another story where he, Rosa, Jared and Artimus were sent to England by Headmistress Esmeralda and, of all people, Liana Diaz. Ellen lost some of the details after that. Shock overwhelmed her. Liana, Jared's mother, a witch she'd come to trust, whom she considered a friend, sent her son to another country to stop American Death Eaters and monsters from joining Voldemort's army.

_How could she? How could she endanger my son behind my back?_

She forced herself to focus on the rest of Jimmy's story, and received another shock. That Tonks woman had helped him again. Not only helped him, but the two wound up sleeping together!

"Wait, what! How old was this Tonks?"

"Just a few years older than me."

Ellen just blinked, stunned into silence. Why the hell had a woman in her twenties gotten sexually involved with her then seventeen-year-old son!

Jimmy went on about how they had to knock out a pair of trolls to warn the Order of the Phoenix about the magical tunnel to be used to transport Voldemort's American allies to England. Then came their escape from Hogwarts via broom, and being chased by aurors. Ellen's jaw dropped when Jimmy told her how he deliberately rammed into the auror formation, then crashed into the forest. She shivered when he ran down his injuries. Compound fracture, separated shoulder, broken ribs, ruptured spleen.

"My God, Jimmy. You could have been killed!" she nearly screeched.

"Yeah, Mom. I know that. Thankfully, Tonks came back and saved my ass."

"So this Tonks. How long we're you involved with her?"

"Just during that mission. I mean, we stayed good friends after that, but she wound up marrying Professor Lupin, the guy who taught Defense Against the Dark Arts the year before I went to Hogwarts. They . . ." His head lowered. "They both died during the Battle of Hogwarts."

Ellen swallowed as Jimmy's shoulders slumped. Mireet leaned against him, gently rubbing his hand. Tears stung Ellen's eyes, the pain from her son so evident. She felt her anger subside.

Until he started talking about the war.

Even in his sitting position, Jimmy looked like he wanted to curl up in a ball and weep as he spoke. Ellen heard about some monster called a setagotha attacking their camp one night and injuring one of the children Jimmy and his friends were protecting. They took the girl – Holly, he said was her name – to the healer of a nearby magical village. But the healer refused to help for fear of Death Eaters finding out about it.

"So I grabbed the guy's daughter and . . ." Jimmy trembled. "I threatened to use a Torture Curse on her."

"What?" Ellen blurted.

"You what?" Douglas said at the same time.

"I wouldn't have really used it."

"Jimmy." Ellen placed a hand over her heart. "My God, a little girl. How could you . . . what could have possessed you to . . ."

"I didn't want to. But . . . but Holly was dying, the healer wouldn't help us. I-I . . . I didn't know what else to do! I'm sorry, but I had to save Holly."

Ellen drowned in a pool of disbelief. How could her son have done something like that? He was a good, caring young man. He would never even consider hurting a child.

_What did that war do to him?_

Just when she thought she couldn't be any more horrified, Jimmy told her about a raid he led on a Death Eater supply base, and how he used a curse to suffocate a witch to death. In another battle, he wound up one-on-one with his old classmate Merak Mather, who'd become a Death Eater. Stripped of his wand, Jimmy had picked up a rock and used it to beat Mather to death.

Ellen used both hands to cover her mouth. Tears slid down her cheek. She glanced across the room at Douglas, who just gaped at their son. Their son who had actually killed people.

_My God . . . My God._

She still couldn't fully comprehend that fact when Jimmy started talking about the nightmares he'd had since the war ended. That didn't come as a complete surprise, considering the way he'd acted when he returned home.

"Did . . . did the nightmares stopped when you left for Indiana?" she asked in a hushed, hopeful voice.

Her insides collapsed when Jimmy shook his head. He told her that the nightmares and flashbacks got worse, to the point he started drinking . . . a lot.

"To put it bluntly, Mom, Dad. I became an alcoholic."

More tears streamed from Ellen's eyes. She also noticed the distress in her husband's face before he slowly rubbed a hand over his forehead.

Then came another surprise. Jimmy's drinking had gotten him mixed up with some underage girls who convinced him to buy beer for them, and he got arrested!

It was almost too much to bear. Her son, her only son, a killer, an alcoholic, and a felon!

Thankfully, Jimmy didn't wind up in jail, as Rosa's mother had gone to Indiana to use her magic to make the police forget about his crime.

_And Adelaide never bothered to tell us about this?_

_Why tell us anything anyway? We're just useless, insignificant Muggles to those people._

Mouth agape, she listened as Jimmy told her about the night Mireet came to see him in Fort Wayne. He'd been drunk, and he went into a rage, to the point he actually considered hitting her for a fleeting second, when she started pouring his beer down the sink.

"That's when it hit me." Jimmy shook his head. "That's when I realized I was completely messed up. I just . . . I just fell on the floor, crying like a newborn baby, hating myself for what I'd turned into. Thankfully, Mireet's been helping me through this. I hadn't had a drink since that night, and Lord knows there've been a few times when I really felt I needed one. I got back in touch with Rosa and Jared and Artimus. I don't hate myself any more. I am pissed off that I let things get this bad, that I let my pride get the better of me and didn't ask anyone for help. That's why I wanted to see you. I shut you out of so many parts of my life for the past five years, and I felt it was time to come clean. You're my parents. I love you guys. I just thought you had the right to know everything I've been through."

Ellen didn't move. She just stared at Jimmy, digesting everything he'd told her and Douglas. How could this have happened to her son? How could he turn out like this? They may not be the perfect family. What family is? But Jimmy had always been fairly level-headed. He had a good sense of right and wrong. He knew enough to avoid situations where he could get into serious trouble, as in go to jail or wind up in rehab trouble.

_Until now._

She continued staring at Jimmy. Just three years ago he had been a confident young man with a terrific, albeit at times biting, sense of humor. Now . . . my God, she couldn't find a hint of that Jimmy O'Bannon.

_What happened to my son!_

Tears blurred her vision. Slowly, she pushed herself out of the chair.

"Ellen? Ellen, are you okay?"

She ignored her husband and shuffled out of the living room and down the hallway until she reached the office. She closed the door and let the tears fall freely. Her watery eyes took in the framed photos on top of the desk, the filing cabinets and bookshelves. Normal photos. Ones that didn't move. Ones that showed Jimmy as he had been. Before the war. Before she ever knew that crazy magical world even existed.

Ellen picked up a photo of Jimmy at seven-years-old, in his red and white Little League uniform, smiling as he rested a baseball bat on his shoulder. He looked so sweet and happy and innocent.

How could the little boy in this photo turn into the young man now sitting on her living room couch?

The door creaked open. Ellen turned around, expecting to see Douglas.

Her jaw clenched when she saw Mireet Miradeaux standing in the doorway.

"Mrs. O'Bannon. I just wanted to see if you were all ri-"

"You did this to him."

Mireet blinked in confusion. "I'm sorry?"

"He was supposed to go to Salem to learn about being a wizard. That was it. But then you magical people made him fight your damn war. You turned my son into a killer. Now look at him! Look what you did to him!"

"Mrs. O'Bannon, please." Mireet held up a hand and stepped closer to her.

"I trusted you! You and that headmistress and Liana and Adelaide! I trusted you to look after my son. But what did you do instead? You trained him to kill people. How could you betray my trust like that!

"Mrs. O'Bannon, we never -"

"Get out! I've had it with you damn witches and wizards! Get out!"

Head lowered, Mireet stepped back through the archway and closed the door.

Ellen clutched Jimmy's Little League photo to her chest and sobbed.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	5. A Long Time Coming

**CHAPTER 5: A LONG TIME COMING**

* * *

_Maybe this was a bad idea after all._

O'Bannon stared down the hallway, his mother's shouts echoing in his mind. The veins of his neck stuck out. The fury in Mom's voice stunned him. He knew she'd never been one hundred percent comfortable with the Wizarding World, but she'd never shown this level of . . .

Hatred?

Fear clawed the back of his mind. He thought of all the stories Harry Potter had told him about his despicable, magic-hating aunt and uncle. Would Mom become like that?

Mireet returned to the living room, her jaw stiffened.

"Mireet." O'Bannon got up from the sofa and headed over to her. "You okay?"

She looked at him, her eyes glistening. "I'm sorry, Jimmy. I just wanted to try and help. I did not mean to make your mother so angry." Mireet clamped her mouth tight, as though trying to keep from crying.

He wrapped his arms around her, slowly rubbing her back. "It's okay. It's not your fault."

She sniffled a couple times, then took a deep breath to regain her composure. "I'm all right." The words sounded forced.

O'Bannon released Mireet from his embrace. He then turned to his father. The man just stood there, staring at him, his shoulders rising and falling with slow breaths.

"Um, Dad? You okay?"

Several seconds of silence passed, Dad's eyes locked on him. He exhaled loudly before speaking. "No, Jimmy. I'm not. I'm really not. I have to agree with your mother on this one. We did not send you to a school in a whole other world so you could fight a war."

"C'mon, Dad. It's not like anyone expected this to happen."

"All right, I agree. Most times nobody expects a war to happen. But after everything you went through, the way it affected you with the nightmares and the drinking, why didn't you come to us to talk about it?"

"Because I thought I could handle it on my own. And . . . well, neither you nor Mom were ever in a war. I just thought you guys wouldn't understand."

"Maybe I do have some understanding. You know about Uncle Nick?"

O'Bannon nodded. Uncle Nick was his paternal grandfather's brother who died when O'Bannon was two.

"He fought in World War Two with the Marines at Tarawa and Iwo Jima," Dad continued. "He became distant, had trouble sleeping, became a heavy drinker. Then one day he went down to the basement, sat in a corner, put a gun in his mouth and blew his brains out. He never told anyone about the problems he had because of the war. I do not want to see the same thing happen to you."

O'Bannon just blinked, unsure what to say. All these years he never told his parents about what he'd done in the war, or the emotional turmoil it caused, because, well, since his parents weren't wizards, what could they do to help?

Shame engulfed him. It wasn't like he'd never heard about what happened to Uncle Nick. Maybe if he thought about it more over the past two years, he would have considered opening up to Mom and Dad about –

The door to the office opened. O'Bannon turned and saw Mom stomping down the hall. When she entered the living room, he noticed the tear streaks on her cheeks and the anger blazing in her eyes. Those angry eyes were aimed right at Mireet.

"You. I want you out of my house. Right now."

"What?" O'Bannon blurted. "Mom, come on."

"I mean it! I've had it with you magical people. I want you out of our lives forever!"

"Mom, for God's sake, will you calm down."

"Jimmy." Mireet turned to him. "If I'm upsetting your mother, then perhaps it is for the best that I leave."

"No way." He slashed his hand in front of him.

"They lied to us, Jimmy! Your father and I. They told us you'd be safe at Salem. But they betrayed our trust. Headmistress Esmeralda, Dumbledore, Rosa's and Jared's parents, and her." Mom pointed at Mireet. "They made you fight in that damn war!"

"No they didn't, Mom. Nobody forced me to do anything. Yeah, Headmaster Dumbledore asked me to help, but I could have said no. I could have said that's what the aurors are for. But I thought this was something so serious I couldn't just sit on the sidelines and hope for the best, especially with that dumbass Cornelius Fudge trying to sweep Voldemort's return under the rug. You wanna be pissed at someone, be pissed at me, not them. I was the one who kept you in the dark about everything. And I swear, Mom, if you kick Mireet out of here, I'll be right behind her."

Mom's eyes widened in shock.

"Jimmy, no." Mireet put a hand on his shoulder. "I do not want to come between -"

"Forget it, Mireet. You're part of my life. Where you go, I go. I'm serious."

Mireet seemed frozen. She just stared at him with wide eyes.

So did Mom, only her eyes flashed with all sorts of emotions. Anger, shock, hurt . . . betrayal?

Silence hung over the room for an eternity. Mom's head trembled. Her nostrils flared. Looking as though she had to force her mouth open, she uttered just one word. "Fine."

She turned on her heel and headed for the stairs.

"Ellen?" Dad called out to her.

Mom ignored him and slowly climbed the carpeted steps.

O'Bannon watched her go, jaw trembling. His stomach twisted as he sensed a huge rift suddenly form between him and Mom.

He wondered if such a rift could ever be fixed.

**XXXXX**

After a long day of traveling, and all the tumult with his parents, O'Bannon expected he'd be able to fall asleep right away.

But sleep wouldn't come. Instead he lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, replaying the past several hours in his mind.

Mom had stayed in her bedroom for about an hour before Dad convinced her to come back downstairs. She didn't look as angry. She also didn't utter a word.

Dad ordered a pizza for dinner. Not the sort of meal O'Bannon hoped for after months of eating like the typical single guy, meaning restaurants, take-out or microwaveable meals. But Mom was certainly in no mood to cook, as demonstrated by the fact she didn't say a word at dinner. Then again, no one spoke much at the kitchen table.

_Whoever said honesty is the best policy is full of crap._

He closed his eyes, willing himself to fall asleep. His efforts, however, proved fruitless.

Growling, he threw the blankets off him and got out of bed, clad in an old, worn Boston Red Sox T-shirt and gray gym shorts. Quietly opening the door, he tip-toed down the hallway, past the guest room where Mireet slept and past his parents' bedroom. He descended the stairs as softly as possible, turned on the living room lights, and walked over to the fireplace. He stared at the framed photos lining the mantle. His mouth twisted when he noticed none of the photos showed him in any wizarding setting. Even his graduation photos were nowhere to be found. It seemed as though Mom had been getting rid of all vestiges of his magical life long before today. He sighed, thinking of all the times she'd been over the Infantes' and the Diazes', or when they'd entertained them here. Sure at first Mom and Dad had been a bit standoffish to Jared's and Rosa's parents. Understandable, given the unusual world they'd suddenly been thrust into. But over time they warmed to them, befriended them. O'Bannon felt his parents had fully accepted the Wizarding World and its people. So what changed that?

He knew the answer full well. The damn war had changed everything. Specifically, what the war had done to him.

An urge crept through him. An urge to go into the kitchen and see if Mom and Dad had anything drink. Beer, wine, whatever, so long as it had alcohol.

He clenched his teeth, beating down the urge. Booze had caused enough problems in his life.

_Just one drink. Just to take the edge off._

He clenched a fist. He knew one drink would turn into two, then three, and so on and so on.

_Be strong. Be strong._

He took a few deep breaths and stared back at the photographs on the mantle, hoping it would take his mind off getting drunk. One photograph in particular caught his eye. Him and his parents outside Fenway Park. All three of them were smiling, his nine-year-old self holding up a Red Sox pennant. They all looked so happy.

He wondered if he'd ever be part of such a family photograph again.

A creak came from the stairs. He spun around.

Mireet came down the steps and into the living room. O'Bannon held his breath. The French witch wore a white silken nightgown that hugged her tall, trim body. His heart sped up as she approached him.

"M-Mireet? What are you doing up?"

"I heard someone walk past my room. I thought it was you."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"It is all right. I couldn't fall asleep anyway."

"Yeah. Same here." O'Bannon frowned. He headed over to the sofa, Mireet following him. They both sat down, his eyes making quick passes over Mireet's body.

"Well this whole day could have gone better, couldn't it?" He pressed himself deeper into the cushions.

Mireet lowered her head. Moments later she turned to face him. "Jimmy, I'm so sorry. I never meant to cause your family so much distress."

"I told you, Mireet, it's not your fault. I never expected Mom to have that kind of meltdown. I mean, she's always been cool with you and Artimus and Jared and Rosa and their family. But now . . ." He let he comment hang in the air.

"She is worried about you," Mireet said. "That is why she is so upset. I have only been around your mother a few times before today. Even so, I do not believe she truly hates the Wizarding World. I think what she hates is what the war has done to you. People like me are just a convenient target for her anger."

"Man, I hope you're right. When Mom told you to get out of here, it just blew me away."

"For what it is worth, it did bring out your old self."

O'Bannon's brow furrowed. "What'd ya mean?"

"The way you stood up to your mother. How adamant you were about allowing me to stay. How you . . . how you said I was a part of your life. It has been a long time since I have heard you speak with such assuredness, such conviction."

"Thanks." He grinned at her. "I just wish I didn't have to do that to my mom. Man, she's gotta be pissed at me."

"She will get over it."

"I hope you're right."

Mireet took hold of his hand. "She is your mother. She loves you."

O'Bannon stared into Mireet's face, a face that radiated confidence. The worry inside him ebbed. Looking at her, being this close to her, he felt, no, he knew, everything would be all right.

"Thank you." He hugged Mireet, closing his eyes as he pressed his cheek against her soft blond hair. His heart beat wildly as he relished the feel of her body against his. Tingles raced through him. Had the time come? They had held off on any intimacy. He still had so much crap to work through. He wanted things to be perfect when they finally took that big step. And right now, things were far from perfect.

He pulled back, and just stared into Mireet's smiling face. So beautiful, so . . .

He leaned in, his lips on hers. Electricity shot through his body. Their mouths opened wider. His hand slowly caressed her side.

They broke the kiss. Heat gripped O'Bannon's body as he locked eyes with Mireet. He swallowed when he detected surprise emanating from her face.

"Um, uh . . . I'm sorry. I just . . . I know we wanted . . . I mean . . ."

Mireet placed a hand on his cheek and kissed him. He wrapped his arms around her.

Something burst inside him. Years of pent-up desire and passion. Their kissing grew fiercer. He lay back on the couch, Mireet's hand running over his chest. He kissed her chin, her cheek, her neck.

"Oh, Jimmy," she gasped. "Jimmy." Now her lips slid down his cheek and neck. He shuddered, his breathing staggered. He gently pushed aside some of Mireet's long hair and nibbled on her shoulder. She giggled softly before shifting herself and planting a long, deep kiss on his mouth. His hand slid up her bare arm until he reached her shoulder. With his thumb, he hooked the strap of Mireet's nightgown and started to pull it down.

"Jimmy," she said breathlessly, one hand resting on his chest.

"What?"

"I just . . . I would love to, but, I think we should . . . we should wait before we go that far. That's something I want to happen when things are just right."

O'Bannon bit his lip in frustration. Things were just right right now!

But if Mireet wanted to wait . . .

"Yeah. Sure. Okay. I understand. But, um, in the meantime, we can still . . . well, keep on doing what we were doing, right?"

Mireet answered with a smile and another long, deep kiss.

The kissing and caressing went on. O'Bannon had no idea for how long. Time became meaningless to him.

Eventually they ceased. They laid on the sofa, arms wrapped around one another. Mireet rested her head on O'Bannon's chest, his chin rubbing against her hair, their breathing in sync.

"I have dreamed of a moment like this so many times," Mireet said.

"Me too." He smiled and kissed the top of her head. "It may have taken five years, but we made it happen."

He felt Mireet hold her breath. She then rose off him and swung her legs over the edge of the sofa. Brow furrowed, O'Bannon sat up as Mireet leaned forward, her hands clutched together in her lap.

She shuddered and started crying.

He stared at her, stupefied. In the countless intimate fantasies he'd had about Mireet over the years, none of them involved her crying. He couldn't imagine what might have caused this.

Mireet's hands covered her face, muffling her sobs.

"Mireet?" He placed a hand on her back. "What's wrong?"

She let her hands fall from her damp cheeks. "I am such a fool."

O'Bannon's face scrunched in puzzlement. "What are you talking about?"

"Five years. Why did we have to wait so long? All the things we have been through. We could have died any number of times. Died without ever experiencing a night like this. This . . . this should have happened at the Yule Ball. But I let what happened between Marc-Andre and I rule my life. He broke my heart, hurt me so much, and I was so afraid of having that happen again that I didn't . . ." She took a ragged breath and wiped her eyes. "We could have had so many wonderful times together at Hogwarts, or here in this country. Instead I pushed you away because I was so stupid."

"Hey, hey." O'Bannon took hold of her hand. She turned to him, sniffling, as he continued. "You're not a fool. And I'm not blameless in this, either. There were plenty of times over the last few years where I really thought we could be together, but for one reason or another I stopped short. When me and Talia broke up, I thought about trying to start something with you. But the war and the work I did with the Guild of the Light were what drove Talia away, and I didn't want the same thing to happen to us. Then when the war ended, I thought maybe we had a chance. But I kept thinking about Rana and Tonks. Two women I'd cared about died, and if anything happened to you, I knew I wouldn't be able to deal with it."

He frowned and shook his head. "I've let all sorts of fears rule me when it came to you and me, and I shouldn't have let that happen. All I can do is promise you that I'll make up for all that time we should have spent together." He bit his lip. "And that starts now."

His heart hammered in his chest. He looked Mireet directly in her tear-filled eyes. "There's been something I've wanted to say to you for the longest time, and every time I've worked up the courage to say it, something's always got in the way. Well, that's not gonna happen tonight."

O'Bannon cupped Mireet's cheek with his hand. "I love you."

Her jaw trembled. She took a couple quick breaths. O'Bannon noticed more tears forming in Mireet's eyes. He also noticed something else forming on her. A smile.

"I love you too, Jimmy. I have loved you since we were at Hogwarts."

An airy feeling swept through his insides. He wanted to call it happiness, but that word wouldn't do this feeling justice. He didn't think any word could describe his feelings accurately. She had said it. They had said it, said it and meant it.

He wiped the tears from Mireet's cheeks with his thumb, kissed her, and pulled her into a hug. He buried his face in her hair, blond strands tickling his lips as he smiled.

Jimmy O'Bannon's dream of five years had finally come true.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	6. The Struggle Within

**CHAPTER 6: THE STRUGGLE WITHIN**

* * *

Ellen O'Bannon tugged the brush through her coiffed dark hair, her jaw clenched. She stared at herself in the wide bathroom mirror, trying to organize her thoughts. She had an appointment in Easton today with developers and the property owner to tour a piece of land being considered for a new shopping center. So many things to take into account. Geography, access to roads, surrounding population. What questions might they ask? Was she prepared to answer them?

Her shoulders slumped. All the information on the Easton project became a jumbled mess in her head. How could she concentrate on it after everything that happened last night?

She tossed the brush aside and gripped the edge of the sink counter. The anger boiled inside her. So many damn secrets. Okay, when she'd been Jimmy's age she kept plenty of things from her parents. But Jimmy's secrets . . . my God, they were destroying him. The nightmares, the drinking.

_Why didn't he tell us?_

_Why didn't _they _tell us?_

Ellen's knuckles turned white from clenching the sink counter. Liana and Irving, Adelaide and Cesario, Headmistress Esmeralda. Behind her back they turned Jimmy into a soldier. Sixteen, seventeen-years-old, and they made him fight a war. And look what it did to him?

_Did they even try to help him?_

She pushed herself away from the sink and flung open the bathroom door. She'd never forgive any of them for this.

Face scrunched, she pounded down the stairs. She hit the landing, looked up . . . and froze.

Jimmy lay on the living room sofa, with Mireet draped on top of him!

Ellen just gawked at them. Part of her felt this shouldn't have come as a surprise after what happened last night. Still, to see her son, her _only _son, her precious boy, with a woman lying on top of him, in her house . . .

Jimmy moaned and stirred. His eyes fluttered open. A smile creased his face.

He then saw her.

"Mom!?" His eyes widened as he bolted up.

Mireet jerked awake. "Jimmy? Jimmy, what's wrong?" She blinked a couple times before her eyes fully opened. "Muh . . . Mrs. O'Bannon?"

They both shot to their feet. Jimmy stared at her, his mouth hanging silently open. Mireet avoided eye contact with her, the girl's cheeks red with embarrassment.

"Uh, hey, Mom." Jimmy's head rotated between her and Mireet. "Um, we were just . . . uh, nothing happened. Well, not nothing. I mean _that _didn't happen, you know?"

Ellen pressed her lips together, not sure what to say, not even sure what to think about this, especially after what she heard last night.

Jimmy swallowed. "Um, we're just gonna go get changed. We'll, uh, be back down in a bit."

He hurried past her, avoiding eye contact, as did Mireet. Ellen glanced at them as they went up the stairs. Her gaze shifted to the sofa where her son and the witch had been sleeping. Everything that happened yesterday flashed through her mind.

She had no idea how to feel about this.

Shaking her head, she headed into the kitchen. She switched on the coffee maker, made some toast and grabbed a bowl of fruit salad from the refrigerator. By the time she sat down and started eating, Douglas entered the kitchen.

"You doing okay, hon?" he asked while pouring himself a cup of coffee.

She shrugged. "I guess."

Douglas walked up behind her, gripped her shoulder and planted a kiss on the top of her head. "It's going to be all right." He sat in the chair across from her.

Ellen sighed, both hands wrapped around her coffee mug. "Why did this have to happen to Jimmy?"

"Are you talking about what happened to him because of the war or just being a wizard in general?"

"Both." She sighed again and leaned back in her chair. "How are we supposed to deal with this, Douglas? I'm an appraiser, you're an engineer. We're practical people. How can we deal with magic and witches and wizards?"

"We've been dealing with it for almost eleven years."

"But it's never been this complicated. Most of Jimmy's time at Salem was . . . normal, or what passes for normal in that world. Then he went to Hogwarts and . . . I knew something happened there. I knew the day we picked him up at the train station that something wasn't right. Now look at him. What are we supposed to do? Last night I was wondering if he should see a psychiatrist. But how can we take him to a regular psychiatrist?"

Douglas worked his jaw back and forth. "I don't know, hon. We just have to try and be there for him. Offer the best advice we can whenever he talks to us."

"He hasn't talked to us about any of this for, what is it, five years?" She stabbed her spoon into her fruit salad.

"Not until yesterday. I got the sense he wants to be more forthcoming with us. And it seems like Mireet is helping him a lot."

Ellen had the spoon halfway to her mouth when she froze. Her grip tightened, to the point the spoon trembled, clear drops of liquid falling on the table. A scowl formed on her face.

"What?" Douglas cocked an eyebrow.

Ellen dropped her spoon back into the fruit salad. "I just wish he would've met a normal girl."

"You used to like Mireet, you know."

She stared at her husband for a few seconds, then shifted her gaze to the tiled floor, unsure how to respond.

"She seems to be helping Jimmy," Douglas continued. "For all we know, he may not have told us what he's been going through if she wasn't around. And he said he hasn't had a drink since Mireet's been with him."

Ellen sighed, still gazing at the floor. If Mireet had gotten Jimmy to stop drinking, she should be grateful. But how could she forget about those witches and wizards betraying her trust?

"Why does it have to be a witch? Why can't it be a normal girl?"

"I doubt a 'normal' girl would understand what Jimmy's going through. But he's known Mireet for five years. They both fought in the war. Maybe having a witch for a girlfriend is what he needs."

"No!" Ellen whipped her head back to Douglas. "People like her are the reason for Jimmy's problems."

"Ellen, you can't blame every single person in the Wizarding World for what Jimmy's going through."

"How can you not be upset about this?" She leaned forward, her right hand making a quick chop through the air. "All those people lied to us."

"I never said I wasn't upset at _some _of them. Believe me, I am. I don't like the idea that the Diazes and Infantes and the headmistress at Salem let Jimmy fight in a war when he was still a student. But I don't think Mireet had anything to do with that. She seemed to be just another soldier, like Jimmy was. Not one of the people making the big decisions. And remember, if it wasn't for her, Jimmy might still be on the road to becoming as big an alcoholic as your sister Shelly was."

Ellen's jaw clenched. She remembered the hell Shelly had put her husband, their two children, and the rest of the entire family through when she had her drinking problem.

She shuddered when she pictured Jimmy going through the same ordeal.

A couple minutes later Jimmy entered the kitchen, dressed in bluejeans and a gray sweatshirt that read FORT WAYNE KOMETS HOCKEY CLUB. EST. 1952.

"Um, mornin', Dad. Mom."

"Mornin', Jimmy." Douglas responded.

"Jimmy," Ellen muttered.

Jimmy frowned before walking away from the table. He returned a few minutes later with some toast, a bowl of Cheerios and a glass of orange juice. All three ate in silence, though Ellen caught Jimmy giving her some quick glances.

"So how long are you gonna keep up the silent treatment?" Jimmy stared directly at her.

She stared back, the corners of her mouth crinkling. "I'm sorry, Jimmy. I just . . . I have a lot of stuff to think about." She swirled her spoon around the remnants of her fruit salad.

"Like what? Whether or not to keep hating my girlfriend? Or the rest of the Wizarding World?"

Ellen let the spoon clatter against the edge of the bowl. "I don't . . ." She pressed her lips together, cutting herself off. What she heard last night had made things so confusing.

"Um . . . so, Jimmy," Douglas, thankfully jumped in. "Any plans for today?"

"Maybe relax a little. Then do some planning."

"Planning for what?" asked Douglas.

Jimmy drummed his fingers on the table a couple times. "When I left the Wizarding World, I turned my back on a lot of people. Good friends, people I thought of as family. If Rosa's reaction to me coming back is any indication, a lot of them are probably pissed at me. So I'm spending the summer doing a lot of reconciling. I messed up big time. Now I gotta make things right."

Ellen stiffened. She couldn't help but wish Jimmy would leave the Wizarding World behind. At the same time, how could she not be proud of a son willing to take responsibility for his actions? It made her feel she and Douglas had done a good job raising him. That they did matter in his life.

"I've got a lot of friends from Salem I need to apologize to," Jimmy continued. "Then I need to do the same with my friends in England."

"You're going to England?" Ellen straightened in her seat.

"Yeah. I went through a lot with those guys over there, and I just dropped 'em like they didn't mean anything. Considering George almost knocked me on my ass when I told him I was leaving the Wizarding World, I probably burned a lot of bridges with the Brits. I gotta go back there and rebuild them."

Ellen took a breath, trying to think of what to say. That's when she caught movement out the corner of her eye. She turned.

Tension gripped her body as Mireet entered the kitchen. The French witch stiffened as their eyes met. She then drew a slow breath and looked at the others.

"Good morning."

"Morning, Mireet." Douglas nodded to her. "Um, I'm not sure what you want to eat. We've got cereal, instant oatmeal, bagels, fruit, coffee, orange juice." He pointed around the kitchen to where they could all be found.

"_Merci." _Mireet got herself a fruit cup, cereal and juice and sat next to Jimmy, who greeted her with a smile and a gentle rub of the back.

Douglas soon got up from the table and left for work. Ellen finished her breakfast and carried her dishes over to the sink, watching her son and Mireet out the corner of her eye.

"Jimmy," the witch said. "Would you mind filling Sirona's water bowl?" She referred to her brown long-eared owl, whose cage was in the guestroom. "I forgot to do it when I was upstairs."

Jimmy cocked an eyebrow, his gaze shifting from Mireet to her, then back to Mireet.

"You sure?"

"_Oui. _Do not worry."

Ellen rinsed out her bowl, all the while watching her son with a sideways glance. He aimed a worried look her way, then turned back to Mireet.

"Okay." He kissed her on the cheek, flashed her a grin, and left.

Tension knotted Ellen's chest. It was just the two of them in the kitchen now. They hadn't even spoken to one another since their blow up – _my blow up –_ yesterday. What should she say to her? Should she say anything? Should she keep ignoring her?

Ellen dried her hands on a towel hanging from a rack over the sink. She then stared out the window at the big elm tree in the backyard, unsure what to do next.

A heavy silence filled the kitchen. She held her breath and turned toward the table. Mireet looked at her for a few seconds, then switched her gaze to her half-eaten cereal.

Ellen leaned against the sink, looking down at her shoes. She tried to think of something to say. What could she say after everything that happened last night?

Mireet spared her. "Mrs. O'Bannon. I do not blame you for being upset with me, with all witches and wizards."

Ellen lifted her head. The two stared at one another for a few, silent seconds before Mireet continued.

"I am sorry you feel the way you do, that you think we betrayed your trust when it came to Jimmy. Perhaps we did. I do not believe it was ever Headmaster Dumbledore's intention to have Jimmy actually fight while he was in school, nor that of the Infantes and Diazes. But things happened, unforeseen things. So much was at stake that Jimmy had to undertake dangerous tasks while still at Salem. I am sorry this information was kept from you. I am sorry things have been so hard for him because of the war, and I . . ." Her jaw trembled. "I am so very sorry I did not try to help him sooner."

Ellen swallowed as she saw Mireet close her eyes and turn away. A painful knot formed in her stomach.

Mireet drew a slow breath. She turned back to her and opened her eyes, which now glistened.

"I thought . . . I hoped returning to the Muggle World would help him. I realize now that was a foolish hope. The war affected him so much. I knew he was in so much pain, I knew leaving our world was not the answer. I should have done more to convince him to stay. Perhaps I was too shocked, too . . . hurt when he told me he was leaving. But that is no excuse. I should have contacted him or visited him, even if he did not want me to. I should have made sure he was all right. Had I done that . . ." She clasped her hands together on the table and sniffled. "Maybe he would not have gone through so much anguish."

Tears stung the corners of Ellen's eyes. Guilt twisted her insides as she stared at Mireet. Her throat tightened as she could clearly see the hurt on Mireet's face.

_They betrayed you, _a voice in the back of her head whispered.

She clenched her jaw, remembering Douglas' words about how Mireet might be good for Jimmy, how he hadn't drank since she came back into his life.

"Everything you said to Jimmy last night was true, wasn't it?"

Surprise spread across Mireet's face.

Ellen moved closer to the table. "I overheard you. I couldn't fall asleep. I was just lying in bed and thought I heard someone crying. So I went out into the hallway and was about to go downstairs when I heard you and Jimmy talking." She bit down on her lip, remembering every single, emotional word she heard from her son and the French witch.

Swallowing, she walked around the table and stood next to Mireet's chair. "I need you to look me in the eye. Look me in the eye and tell me you love my son."

Mireet looked up at her. She exhaled slowly, placed her palms on the table, and pushed herself to her feet. Ellen had to crane her neck to stare into the taller woman's eyes.

"I love Jimmy. I love him with all my heart. I always have."

Ellen studied Mireet's face, her eyes, seeking out any hint of insincerity.

She found none.

All sorts of emotions collided within her. She felt she should be happy Jimmy found someone who loved him very much. But she wished it didn't have to be a witch, wished he could have cut his ties completely with the magical world.

But she thought of Douglas' words regarding Mireet again.

_What's more important? My anger or Jimmy's well-being?_

"Swear to me that you'll help Jimmy get through this."

Mireet nodded. "I swear I will do everything in my power to help him."

A tear slid down Ellen's cheek. She pushed away the last vestiges of anger she had for this woman. Not trusting herself to speak, she did the only thing she could.

She hugged Mireet.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **_Props out to Kittyboosmon. Her last review gave me some ideas to change some of Ellen's reactions from what I originally had in mind. Also, Mireet's owl, Sirona, is named after a Celtic goddess worshipped in East Central Gaul. She was a healing deity._


	7. The Road To Forgiveness

**CHAPTER 7: THE ROAD TO FORGIVENESS**

* * *

". . . so all the sudden, this huge bubble starts rising from Jimmy's cauldron." Jared spread out his arms while Tasanee, sitting beside his hospital bed, looked on in anticipation. "He's just standing there staring at it, no clue what to do. And the bubble just keeps getting bigger and bigger. So finally, Jimmy goes to poke it, and Rosa yells, 'Jimmy! Don't!'"

"So he didn't poke it?" Tasanee asked.

"Hell no. He poked it and the whole thing exploded."

"Oh no." Tasanee laughed, covering her mouth with her hands.

"Yeah, the whole potions classroom was covered in this brown goop. Everyone's skin shriveled up like a prune. So we all had to go to the infirmary, and while we're walking there, Rosa's just going off on Jimmy. 'I told you not to poke that thing. Why did you poke it? Why don't you listen to me? Even Jared has more sense than you.' So then I turn to her and say, 'What's that supposed to mean?' Next thing you know, all three of us are yelling at each other, and then the other kids in our class start yelling at us, 'Will you guys shut up already!?'"

Tasanee convulsed in hysterics. "I probably shouldn't laugh. I feel bad for your friend Jimmy."

"Aw, don't worry about him. He laughs about it now. Besides, Potions was always his worst subject. Hell, even I had to help him with his homework sometimes, which is saying something since I wasn't exactly the model student at Salem."

Tasanee continued laughing. She rotated her head toward him and offered him a wide smile. A quiver went through his chest.

_I don't deserve to be this lucky._

His Thai assistant had visited him almost every day since he awoke from his coma. Much as he enjoyed her company, the fact she was here at all surprised him. He'd treated Tasanee awfully since the day he met her. And why? Because she had dared shown concern about him.

Yet despite all that, she came to see him. What the hell made him so special to her?

_Why question it? Just be happy she's here. _Tasanee's visits had become the highlight of his day in this damn hospital. How many weeks had he been cooped up here? He felt fine, hadn't had a headache for nearly a week. He didn't even have the urge to use the Daydream Charm any more. In fact, he never wanted to hear that charm mentioned around him.

Still the healers wouldn't let him leave, insisting on more examinations.

"Brain ailments can be difficult to heal," Healer Nakphut had told him.

So he had to endure more lying in bed doing nothing, more bad food, more healers and nurses waving their wands over his head.

If it hadn't been for Tasanee's visits, he'd have tried to break out of here long ago.

"I wish I could have been at Salem to help Jimmy," Tasanee said. "Potions was one of my favorite subjects. What about you? What were your favorite subjects?"

"Not Potions, that's for sure. I mean, I got by all right in it. But as far as favorites . . . I guess Defense Against the Dark Arts. No surprise there with all the aurors in my family. Then there was Ancient Runes. That was pretty -"

The door to his room opened, and in walked Healer Nakphut.

"Excuse me for interrupting. Mister Diaz, I thought you would like to know that I have finished looking over the results of your latest tests. All your brain activity is back to normal."

"So I'm cured?"

Nakphut nodded. "I feel confident in declaring you healthy and discharging you from this hospital. Your embassy has arranged for a port key to take you back to America."

Jared's jaw tightened. He should be happy, ecstatic, that he was getting out of this place and going home.

Then he looked to Tasanee. The vibrancy she'd shown just a minute ago had vanished. Shoulders slumped, she lowered her head and stared at the floor.

A black hole opened in his stomach. Going home meant no more visits from Tasanee. No more sharing stories, no more laughing together, no more just staring at her and marveling at how beautiful she was.

"Um, thank you, Healer Nakphut," he muttered with little enthusiasm. "Thanks for everything."

"You are welcome. The port key is in our garden area, disguised as a . . . oh, what did the witch from your embassy call it? A _stip-leer?"_

It took Jared a second for the word to register. Hadn't that been one of the things on Jimmy's desk at his house? A thing to hold stacks of parchment – _er, paper – _together?

"You can use it whenever you're ready." Nakphut nodded and smiled first to him, then to Tasanee, before leaving the room.

Jared pressed his head into the pillow, lips tightening. He glanced over at Tasanee, who still hadn't lifted her gaze from the floor. A heavy silence hung in the air.

"So." Tasanee finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "You can finally go home."

"Yeah." He frowned. "Looks that way."

Tasanee drew a slow breath. She finally looked at him, crest-fallen. "I guess . . . I'm sure you'll want to see your family again."

"Yeah. Yeah you're right." Dad and Esteban had stayed in Bangkok for a couple weeks before he convinced them he was on the road to recovery and they returned to the States.

Reluctantly, he pushed off his blanket and rolled out of bed. Tasanee waited outside while he changed into his robes and grabbed his trunk.

They walked down the corridors in no hurry. Jared kept taking sideways glances at Tasanee, his chest tightening every time he took in her beautiful face. He never imagined leaving a hospital would be so hard.

_Not the hospital . . . her._

He held his breath. _Merlin's beard. Am I . . ._

He gritted his teeth, not wanting to admit it.

They stepped outside into the sunlight and walked along a stone path beside the hospital. It led to an alcove with shade trees, flower beds and wooden benches. In the center was a pond with several large goldfish swimming around.

Jared spotted the _stip-leer _sitting on one of the benches. He had to force himself to walk over to it. When he reached the disguised port key, he stared at it and sighed. Biting the inside of his cheek, he turned to face Tasanee.

"Well, um, I guess . . . guess this is good-bye."

Tasanee nodded, her eyes glistening.

Jared took a slow, deep breath. He stepped forward and gently gripped Tasanee's shoulders. He felt her tense at his touch.

"I, um . . . I just wanted to thank you for visiting me here. It, um . . . it really meant a lot."

"I was happy to do it."

Neither one spoke. They just stared at each other. Jared finally broke the silence. "And I just want to say again, I'm so sorry for the way I treated you -"

"Jared, you've already apologized to me many times."

"Yeah, I know. But . . . I don't know. I just feel like I could apologize to you for the next twenty years and it still won't make up for what an asshole I was to you."

"I told you, I forgive you. I . . . You are a wonderful person, Jared."

A lump formed in his throat. He just kept staring at Tasanee, not wanting to let go of her.

"Are . . . are you going to come back to Thailand?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, I'd like to. I'm definitely gonna try. I don't know when, but . . . I'll try."

He almost wanted to laugh. He'd been miserable in this country since the first day he set foot here. Now he wanted to come back?

_Because I have a good reason to._

Jared leaned in and kissed Tasanee on the cheek. A bolt of pure energy shot through him.

"Bye, Tasanee."

"Good-bye, Jared."

He stepped back, eyes still on Tasanee, burning her image into his brain. Eventually, somehow, he forced himself to turn away and reached down for the port key.

Wind howled. An invisible force yanked him off his feet. Seconds later he was back on solid ground. The hospital was gone.

Tasanee was gone.

He now stood on a grassy hill overlooking some darkened woods. A dirt road led to a squarish, log house in the middle of a field.

His father's house.

Lights blazed in the downstairs windows. He smiled, anxious to see his father, hoping he'd gotten better since he last saw him a few weeks ago.

He started down the hill toward the house. Halfway there his legs began to quiver. He felt like sitting down and resting for a bit.

_Oh for Merlin's sake. It's not that long a walk._

Jared frowned. He'd spent most of the past few weeks in bed, his physical activity severely limited. Was it any wonder he was so out of shape?

Still he pushed on and made it to the front door on wobbly legs. He knocked, then cursed himself for not Floo Calling Dad from Thailand that he was coming home.

_Oh well. It'll be a surprise then._

The door opened. It wasn't Dad who greeted him.

"Jared!" Rosa flung herself at him, wrapping him up in a crushing hug.

"Rosa? What are you doing here?"

"Having dinner with your father. Me and Esteban, actually. Come in. Merlin's beard, why didn't you tell us you were coming home today?"

"The healer let me out a few minutes ago. Said I was completely recovered. I guess I should have given you guys a Floo Call. Sorry."

"Don't be." Rosa closed the door behind him and led him across the living room. "I'm just glad you're back, and you're all right."

"Jared." Dad emerged from the kitchen, a smile on his face. It had been a long time since he'd seen the man's expression so . . . bright. "What a pleasant surprise. Welcome back."

Dad hugged him, pounding his back. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. The healer said I'm fine now."

"Well I'm glad to hear that, little brother." Esteban came over and hugged him.

Jared smiled at him, then glanced around Esteban in a forlorn hope of seeing Oriana and Rodolfo.

He didn't.

_I guess they still haven't made up._

"Are you hungry?" Dad asked. "We just finished eating, but we do have leftovers. Rosa made quite a bit tonight."

Jared turned to his cousin, eyes wide. "You cooked?"

"Yes, I can cook. Quit looking so surprised."

"Cooking, straightening up the house. Rosa's been helping me out a lot since I got back from Thailand." Dad put an arm around Rosa, who beamed at him.

Jared snorted. "Wow. Since when did you decide to become a housewife-in-training?"

"Look who's talking?" Rosa scowled at him. "For you cooking and cleaning means making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and throwing all your dirty clothes into a closet."

He opened his mouth to respond, then froze. The scowl vanished from Rosa's face. They looked at each other, first in shock, then with joy. He couldn't remember the last time he and his cousin had needled one another like this.

"Um . . . so, c'mon." A half-smile formed on Rosa's face. "I made some beef stew and bread. Let me get a bowl and heat it up for you."

"Thanks, Rosa." He followed her into the kitchen, his stomach growling. He hadn't realized just how famished he was until now.

Jared scooped stew and stuffed bread into his face as soon as Rosa levitated them to the table. Merlin, it tasted so good. Of course, after eating hospital food for weeks, anything would taste good right now.

"You better have another bowl, maybe two." Rosa observed him from across the table. "You look like you dropped a lot of weight."

Still chewing, Jared looked down at himself. His robes did fit him more loosely than before.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. That hospital food isn't very filling. Not all that tasty, either."

Dad, Rosa and Esteban peppered him with questions as he ate. How was his stay in the hospital? Was everything fine with his brain? His memory? Did he have any urges to use the Daydream Charm again?

"No way," he said emphatically. "I wish I never even heard of that charm."

Dad smiled and nodded. The smile, however, then vanished from his face. "I should have stayed in Thailand until you were out of the hospital."

"I told you, Dad. I was getting better. There was no need for you and Esteban to hang around. Besides, Tasanee visited me just about every day."

"Really?" Rosa's face lit up. She leaned toward him, her body language demanding more information.

Even Dad straightened in his seat. "Tasanee, huh? So has she become more than just your assistant?"

Jared's mouth hung open as he stared at Dad, and sensed Rosa's inquiring eyes on him.

"Um . . . uh . . . I don't . . . Uh . . ." He stuffed a hunk of bread in his mouth and chewed, very, very slowly. When he finally swallowed, Dad, Rosa and Esteban still looked at him.

"Um, well . . . we're pretty good . . . friends. Um, you know."

Out the corner of his eye, he saw Rosa frown. For a second he feared she'd keep after him about Tasanee. Hell, he still wasn't sure how he really felt about her.

_Well, maybe I do. But . . ._

Thankfully, Rosa didn't ask him about Tasanee. Instead she switched the topic to the fact Jimmy and Mireet were now an official couple.

_About friggin' time._

Once Jared finished eating and the table was cleared, Dad announced that he was going to bed.

"Isn't it kinda early, Dad?"

"Maybe, but I've got a busy day tomorrow."

"Doing what?"

"More combat drills," Rosa said. "Especially with Constrictus Curses. You still have room for improvement countering them."

Dad grinned and turned to Jared. "Your cousin. If she ever decides to leave the field and train auror candidates, I'm going to feel sorry for them. This girl's an absolute taskmaster."

Rosa folded her arms, a triumphant smile on her face.

Jared furrowed his brow. Rosa mouthed to him, "I'll tell you later."

"I assume you'll want to sleep in your old room?" Dad asked him.

"Um, yeah. Sure."

"Well, I guess I'd better get going," Rosa announced. "I'm so glad you're back Jared." She hugged him, then went over and hugged Dad. "I'll see you tomorrow, Uncle Irving. Eight a-m sharp."

"Looking forward to it, sweetie."

After hugging Esteban, Rosa headed over to the fireplace, Jared walking next to her.

"So what's all this about running my dad through combat drills?"

"That's my new assignment from Mom."

Jared's jaw clenched at the mention of his Aunt Adelaide.

Rosa continued. "She wants to have Uncle Irving return to SMACRAT eventually, but he hasn't been in the field for nearly two years. Between that and, well, everything else that's happened, his skills have deteriorated. So Mom wants me and Esteban to train him back up."

"Then he can be back in SMACRAT?"

The corner of Rosa's mouth twitched. "Well, nothing's etched in stone. But I think he's on his way. It may be another year or so before he's ready to go back out in the field, but I think it'll happen. And I think mentally, all this is helping Uncle Irving. He's not as depressed as he used to be. Thanks to all these drills we have him doing, it's like he has something to hope for. I think he's starting to see life is worth living again."

A lump formed in Jared's throat. He had to force back the tears that started stinging his eyes. He wrapped his arms around his cousin. "Thanks, Rosa. Thank you so much."

"You know I'm more than happy to do this."

"Is there anything I can do to help? I really want to help."

Rosa smiled at him. "Sure. We can always use another trainer."

"Then I'll be ready tomorrow at eight."

"Good. And remember, just because he's your father, don't go easy on him. The werewolves and wendigos and skinwalkers and everything else he'll face out there won't be easy on him."

Jared threw her a mock salute. "Your wish is my command."

Rosa chuckled and punched his shoulder. They hugged again before she grabbed some Floo powder from an urn next to the fireplace. She paused, then turned to him.

"So. Tasanee."

Jared groaned to himself. He should have known Rosa would bring her back up. "Yeah? What about her?"

"Sounds like she's pretty special."

"Um, what makes you say that?"

Rosa rolled her eyes. "Oh, I don't know. The fact she actually wanted to spend so much time with you. Or the fact you didn't do what you normally do when you talk about a girl you're interested in."

"What'd you mean?"

"I mean, every time you have the hots for some witch, the first thing out of your mouth is what specific parts of her body you like."

"Oh, come on. That's . . . that's . . ." _Actually, that's right._

"You didn't do that with Tasanee. Hell, as soon as her name came up, you got all tongue-tied. To me, that means she's special."

Jared just stared at her, mouth agape, no idea how to respond.

Rosa gave him a sly grin. "'Night, cuz." She tossed the Floo powder into the fireplace and vanished within the green flames.

Jared's eyes stayed locked on the fireplace. _She doesn't know what she's talking about._

_Does she?_

Shaking his head, he went upstairs and made for his room. He was a few feet from it when his father stepped out of the bathroom and called to him.

"Jared."

"Yeah, Dad?"

"Did Rosa leave?"

"Yeah. She Flooed out of here about a minute ago."

"Good. She's been a big help the past few weeks. Her and Esteban. I couldn't believe how much my wand skills dropped off until they started drilling me." Dad shook his head. "There were some times when I felt I wouldn't have lasted a minute against a couple Second Years from Salem. Now I feel confident enough to handle a couple Sixth Years. Maybe even a Seventh Year."

Jared gave a snorting laugh. When was the last time his father had made a joke, especially one at his own expense?

_He is getting better._

"Well, if you don't have a problem with it, Rosa said it was okay for me to join her and Esteban to drill you."

A smile spread ear-to-ear on his father. "I don't have a problem with it at all. Thank you, Jared."

"Sure thing, Dad." He turned and headed for his bedroom.

"Oh, Jared."

He turned back around. "Yeah, Dad?"

His father cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "Um, you know, it was your Aunt Adelaide who set all this up. To have Rosa and Esteban here to help me."

"Uh-huh."

Dad gazed at the floor for a moment. "I know you and your aunt have had your . . . issues. But she's doing a lot to help me get back on my feet. I'm just asking you to give her a chance."

Jared inhaled slowly, debating whether or not to tell Dad what he truly felt. Instead, he just muttered, "Yeah, sure."

Dad's shoulders slumped. No doubt he had wanted a more enthusiastic answer, and a more forgiving tone.

Silence hung in the air until Dad sighed. "Just, um, just think about it. Good-night, Jared."

"'Night, Dad."

Jared went into his bedroom and closed the door. He gazed around. This looked nothing like the room he'd slept in for seventeen years. Yeah, the bed, the desk and the dresser were all in the same place. But the posters showing the Boston Bandits Quidditch team and the wizarding band Deadly Curses were gone. Plus the room looked really . . . neat.

He plopped down on the edge of his bed and exhaled. Dad's words echoed in his head. _Give her a chance._

Jared pressed his fingertips together, his brow crinkling. He should feel grateful to Aunt Adelaide for what she was doing for Dad.

_But why did it take so long?_ He also thought back to that day in the hospital. What had it been? Two, three days after he woke up from his coma? Dad had visited him and told him that the night he arrived in Thailand, he'd gone up to the roof of the hospital, planning to jump to his death. The shock hit him in the gut like a punch from a troll, had frozen him mentally and physically. Dad had wanted to commit suicide?

Thankfully Rosa and Aunt Adelaide had talked him out of it.

_She saved his life, and you haven't even thanked her._

_Why should I? She's the reason he wanted to throw himself off the roof in the first place._

He rubbed his forehead. He just couldn't let go of this anger toward his aunt. How could he? Why should he, after everything that's happened to Dad over the past two years? Someone had to be held responsible for all the hell he'd gone through.

_Well how about the Death Eater that killed my mother?_

Unfortunately, he wasn't around. Hell, no one ever found out the name of the Death Eater who killed his mother. For all he knew, that person may be dead.

But Aunt Adelaide was around.

Grunting, he got to his feet and paced the bedroom, until he caught sight of a framed picture on the dresser. It showed him at eleven-years-old, wearing the cheesiest smile ever, while Aunt Adelaide and Uncle Cesario stood on either side. He recognized the photo instantly. His first day at the Salem Witches Institute, just before he boarded the _Salem Schooner._ He studied the faces of his aunt and uncle. They looked so happy, so proud of him.

_Will Aunt Adelaide ever feel that way about me again?_

Even if he did apologize to her, would she accept it? He thought back to that day he stormed into her office at the Aurors Bureau, yelling at her, calling her a heartless hag.

_Tasanee forgave you._

Head lowered, Jared walked over to his bed. He didn't even bother pulling back the covers or turning off the lights. He just laid down, staring at the ceiling, thinking about Aunt Adelaide, wondering he could ever stop hating her.

Wondering if he had the guts to ever reconcile with her.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	8. Rough Spots

**CHAPTER 8: ROUGH SPOTS**

* * *

"We were at Salem together for seven years. Seven years. I considered you my friend. So did Cindy. So did a lot of other people at Salem. Didn't that mean anything to you?"

Jimmy O'Bannon swallowed as he stared across the small living room into the accusatory eyes of Ursa Oberlin. He shifted on the old sofa, feeling Mireet's hand give his a gentle squeeze.

"It did," he answered his former classmate. "I valued all the friendships I had at Salem."

"But not enough to keep you from leaving this world. Merlin's beard, how many of us fought alongside you at Helghorst Island? Beatrice and Eli and Gregory died there. And you wanted to go back to the Muggle World and forget about all of us?"

"Yes, I did. And I'm sorry."

"You should be." Ursa slid to the edge of her cushioned chair. "They don't deserve to be forgotten. Cindy doesn't deserve to be forgotten."

O'Bannon's shoulders sagged. He recalled that horrible picture he saw in _The All-Seeing Eye _of the valedictorian of his class, and Ursa's suitemate, Cindy Walker, lying face down in a ditch.

"She was my best friend," Ursa continued. "I couldn't have cared less if she was a Muggle-born. She was a great witch, a great person. And look what the Death Eaters did to her. Killed her and threw in a ditch like she was garbage. She didn't deserve that. She didn't deserve to die because she was Muggle-born. And she doesn't deserve to be forgotten by you."

Ursa's jaw trembled. "It's been over two years, and I still miss her."

A tear slid down her cheek.

Jaw clenched, O'Bannon rose from the couch and walked over to Ursa. She didn't say a word as he knelt beside her chair and put a hand on her arm.

_She's not pulling away. That's a good sign._

"You're right, Urs. Cindy doesn't deserve to be forgotten. None of them do. All I can say is I'm sorry. It was selfish of me to do what I did, turn my back on all you guys. And to be honest, I didn't forget about you. I couldn't. I was always thinking about the war, about all our friends who died. I'm sorry for what I did. It was a stupid mistake. All I can do is ask that you forgive me. Please."

Another tear ran down her cheek. Mireet conjured a tissue out of thin air and floated it over to Ursa.

"Thank you." She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She then turned to O'Bannon. "You're here to stay? For good?"

"Absolutely," he nodded. "You have my word on that."

Ursa sniffled and wiped her eyes again. "I forgive you, Jimmy."

Elation and relief swirled inside him. A smile spread across his face. He stood up, as did Ursa. They both hugged.

Minutes later O'Bannon and Mireet walked away from Ursa's apartment complex, a candy cane colored ten-story Victorian house in the woods just outside Keene, New Hampshire.

"Well, that required a little more effort than some of the others," he commented.

"I warned you of becoming complacent after your meetings with Dante and Penelope."

O'Bannon nodded, thinking back to his apologies to Dante Marshall and Penelope Hale. Both had been very understanding of his reasons for leaving the Wizarding World and were happy to see him back. He started to hope that the rest of his "apology tour" would go just as easily.

Thankfully, Mireet hadn't been afraid to tell him how naïve he was to think that way.

"And if you do not believe me," she had told him, "remember Rosa's reaction when you returned to this world."

He did. Rosa had ripped into him for abandoning the Wizarding World and everyone he'd cared about. If she could go off on him like that, how many more of his former Salem classmates might react the same way?

_Or my friends in Britain?_

O'Bannon drew a deep breath, mentally steeling himself. He had a long road ahead of him rebuilding the bridges he had torn down. He had to expect some rough spots along the way.

**XXXXX**

That rough spot came the next day.

O'Bannon and Mireet Apparated to a small cottage at the base of Mount Greylock in Massachusetts, the home of Darius Forten. From the look on his former classmate's face when he opened the door, O'Bannon knew this meeting wouldn't be easy.

"Um, can we come in?"

Darius' face stiffened. His shoulders rose and fell in a deliberate breath. "Yeah," he finally grumbled and stepped aside.

"Thanks." O'Bannon nodded and led Mireet inside by the hand. He gazed around the small living room before his eyes settled on a framed photograph on the mantle of the fireplace. His stomach quivered as he stepped closer to it.

It was a picture of Darius and Rana Rollingsworth, wrapped in each other's arms and smiling.

_Rana._

"So what do you want?" Darius stood near the now closed door, his eyes narrowed.

O'Bannon looked to Mireet, drawing strength from her presence. He turned back to Darius. "Look, man. I just wanted to come here and apologize."

"For what?"

"For leaving the Wizarding World, turning my back on all of you. We spent seven years together at Salem, we fought together at Helghorst Island, and then I just left, tried to forget about everything, everyone. It's just . . . everything that happened during the war, all the friends I lost. My God, two women I really cared about were killed and I-"

"Don't you even think of using Rana for your excuse." Darius stomped over toward him, finger pointed at him. Mireet tensed, her hand hovering near her wand.

Darius' face twisted into a mask of rage. "You're really going to stand there and tell me how much you cared about Rana? How much loved her? Bullcrap! You were together, what, a couple of weeks? I was with her for _two years!_ I loved her! And one stupid mistake, one time I give in to that skank Ivy Chatham, and I ruined everything with Rana."

He leaned in closer, his face inches from O'Bannon's. "Poor Jimmy O'Bannon. The war was so tough for you, you had to go back to your Muggle World so you wouldn't have to think about Rana. Well I couldn't do that!" Darius poked himself in the chest. "Not a day goes by that I don't think about her. That I wish I never let Ivy drag me into the trophy room at Blazenrowe Hall. Then we never would have broken up. I could have been there when the Death Eaters came for Rana and her family and . . . and . . ."

Darius turned away, head trembling.

"Darius, I'm sorry. It was wrong of me to -"

"I don't want your damn apology! I want you to get the hell out of my house!"

"Darius, come on." O'Bannon raised both his hands in a calming gesture. "Look, I admit. It was wrong of me to try and forget about Rana, about all our friends who died in the war. Okay, maybe I wasn't with her as long as you were, but we'd been friends since First Year. And when we were together, I did care about her. A lot."

"Yeah, right. You cared about her. Just not enough to want to remember her for the rest of your life."

"And I said I was wrong about that. Darius, please -"

"Get out of my house."

"Will you just let me -"

"I said get out of my house!"

O'Bannon's face stiffened in determination. "I'm not leaving here until I -"

"Do I have to throw your ass out of here, O'Bannon!?" Darius reached for his wand.

"No!" Mireet lunged forward, her left arm extended between them, her right hand on the handle of her wand. "We will go. We are sorry to have disturbed you."

"Mireet, I'm not done."

"Yes you are." She grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him toward the door.

"Darius. Darius, come on."

Darius just glared at him, his face scarlet. O'Bannon continued to look at him until Mireet opened the door and led him outside.

"What the hell was that about?" He flung his arms out to his sides.

"Jimmy, we were no longer welcome."

"Well maybe if you'd have let me stay a little longer . . ."

"And let him hex you?"

"Eventually he would have calmed down and listened to me."

"No." Mireet shook her head. "He was not in the mood to listen."

O'Bannon snorted. "I didn't Apparate across the state just to leave before me and Darius could patch things up."

"Jimmy. You may have to accept the fact not everyone is willing to forgive you."

His face scrunched. "No way. No friggin' way. I messed things up with a lot of people in this world, and I'm gonna fix it. Period, end of sentence."

He spun around and walked over to a nearby oak tree. He stopped, put both hands on the back of his head, and closed his eyes. How could Mireet just let him give up like that? They both knew this whole process wouldn't be easy. That there'd be rough spots. So here was a rough spot, and what did they do? Quit. He'd gone in there determined to have Darius forgive him, and he lost.

He hated losing.

A hand gently grasped his shoulder. He opened his eyes and saw Mireet next to him, a more sympathetic look on her face.

"Perhaps Darius will forgive you one day. But today is not that day."

"When then?"

"I cannot answer that. Perhaps months from now, years from now. Let some time pass before you see him again."

O'Bannon glowered. Not at Mireet, just at the world in general. Through his frustration, he knew she was right. Not that it made him feel any better. In fact, it made him worry. Were there other people out there, people he'd been closer to much more than Darius, just as unwilling to forgive him?

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	9. Return To Salem

**CHAPTER 9: RETURN TO SALEM**

* * *

O'Bannon's heart pounded as he and Mireet approached the large wrought iron gate. He didn't expect to be so nervous for this visit. The person he wanted to see wasn't necessarily a friend. Nonetheless, she had been an important part of his life.

He stopped a few feet from the gate and stared through the black bars.

"Will we be able to get in?" Mireet asked.

As if on cue, the gate swung open.

"Guess so," O'Bannon replied.

Taking her hand in his, he led Mireet through the opening. After a few steps, he came to a halt and gazed at the scenery. Tingles went through him.

For the first time in three years, Jimmy O'Bannon stood on the grounds of the Salem Witches Institute.

He just stared quietly at everything around him. The rolling green lawn, the lush trees, the winding dirt path leading to a multitude of colonial-style buildings.

A short chuckle escaped his lips.

"What's so funny?" Mireet canted her head.

"Just thinking about my very first day here. Would you believe I was actually disappointed?"

"About what?"

"This." He stretched out his arm and swept it over the campus. "I guess being a Muggle-born, I expected there to be castles and stuff like that. I mean, most wizards and witches on TV and movies lived in castles. Then I get here and the buildings look like old mansions you can see anywhere in New England. It just didn't feel magical."

"I expect your opinion changed after your first class."

"It did." O'Bannon nodded. "Boy did it ever. Transfiguration. My teacher made us turn pebbles into marbles."

"And did you?" Mireet asked.

"You kiddin'? I turned my pebbles into some goopy pink mess. I was afraid they were gonna kick me outta here."

Mireet giggled. "It is nice to know I wasn't the only one who had a difficult first day."

"Oh? What's your story?"

"I had professors who had previously taught my sister. They praised her for being a wonderful student and hoped I would be just as talented. Instead, I gave too much water to my Billardello plant, which released a horrible odor that filled the entire Herbology classroom."

O'Bannon laughed as Mireet continued. "Then in Charms, we were learning the Drying Charm, and I grew so frustrated I could not get it right that I jabbed my wand at the towel and it burst into flames."

O'Bannon bent at the waist, laughing louder.

"It was not funny," Mireet said half-seriously. "My professors questioned whether I was truly Monique's sister. My Charms professor went so far as to say Monique had more talent in one of her fingernails than I did in my entire body. I spent most of the rest of the day in my room crying."

He offered her a supportive smile. "Aw, you poor thing."

"That does not sound very sympathetic." She gave him a mock scolding look.

"Okay. Will this make up for it?" He kissed her on the side of the head.

"No. That does not make up for it at all."

"Well, how about this?" He slid his arm around Mireet's back and turned her so she faced him. Smiling, he lifted his head a bit and gave her a long kiss.

When their lips parted, Mireet sighed contentedly. "I think that is a good start."

He smiled wider and kissed her again.

"Hey! You two!"

They jumped apart at the sound of the angry voice.

"You know the rules. No public displays of affection."

O'Bannon's eyes widened as a hefty wizard with receding gray hair stomped toward them.

"Mister Korvette?"

The wizard halted. Surprise flared over his pug face for a moment, then his eyes narrowed. "Jimmy O'Bannon? What are you doing here?"

"Um, I wanted to see Headmistress Esmeralda."

"Do you have an appointment with her?"

"Actually, I don't. But I really need to talk to her."

Mr. Korvette's face twisted for several seconds. "She's probably in her office."

With that, he spun on his heel and stormed off.

"Who was that?" Mireet asked.

"Mister Korvette. He was my Potions teacher my last year here."

She nodded. "Will you apologize to him, too?"

"You kiddin'? I never liked that guy, and he never liked me. I ain't wasting my time with him."

"Mm, I do not blame you. He seems a very unpleasant man."

"Heh! Calling Korvette unpleasant is like calling Viktor Krum a halfway-decent Seeker."

Mireet laughed softly as they proceeded hand-in-hand toward the Administration Building. They went up to the top floor and stood in front of a pair of arched wooden doors. Above them was an elongated, elegantly carved wooden hawk's neck.

"Hey." O'Bannon waved to the carving. "I'm Jimmy O'Bannon, and this is Mireet Miradeaux. Is Headmistress Esmeralda here?"

"The Headmistress is not here," a raspy voice emerged from the hawk's mouth. "I expect her to return shortly. Please wait here."

Two high-back, leather-padded chairs materialized to their left. They sat down and waited. O'Bannon constantly checked down the corridor leading to the headmistress' office. Any minute he expected her to appear.

Any minute . . . any minute.

His anxiety built up. How would Headmistress Esmeralda react when she saw him? Would she accept his apology? Would she be pissed off at him like Darius Forten?

Drumming his fingers on his knee, he turned back to the door to the headmistress' office. He thought about some of the times he spent in there. That night when he was thirteen, when Headmistress Esmeralda taught him a lesson about fear and courage using a boggart. His Seventh Year, when she told him, Rosa, Jared and Artimus she needed their help stopping Death Eaters from reinforcing Voldemort's ranks in England via Longathian Tunnel. The times he'd met with her to tell her which students he felt were good candidates for the Guild of the Light, and which ones might go over to the dark side. He remembered feeling so proud of himself that he'd helped the Guild, so confident in his ability to size up other people.

Except when it came to Merak Mather.

O'Bannon scowled. Yeah, Mather had been a first-class asshole and had never been shy about expressing his opinions about Muggle-borns. But he never did anything to suggest he'd support Lord Voldemort. Hell, Mather's father fought against Voldemort in the first war, and got a hand blown off in the Battle of Smithjohnny Bridge.

_And what happened? He gets the damn snake tattoo and I wind up . . ._

He shuddered when he thought of that night in the forest, when the Death Eaters attacked, when Merak Mather used the Cruciatus Curse on him, when he grabbed that rock and –

"Ah. There you are."

He whipped his head around. Standing a few feet away was a short, round witch with gray hair spilling from beneath a pointed black hat.

"Headmistress." O'Bannon rose to his feet, as did Mireet.

A smile flashed across Headmistress Esmeralda's face as she strode up to him. "The gate alerted me that you were here. It's good to see you, Jimmy."

"You too, Headmistress." The tension faded from his muscles as he shook hands with her. _Okay, that's a good sign._

"Mireet. It's good to see you again as well."

"And you as well." She shook hands with the headmistress, adding a slight bow.

Esmeralda turned back to O'Bannon. "I heard from Adelaide you'd returned to the Wizarding World. Is everything all right?"

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Well, actually, that's the reason I'm here. Um . . . do you have a couple minutes? I really need to talk to you."

"Of course. Come in." Headmistress Esmeralda led them into her office.

O'Bannon took a quick glance around, noting the moving portraits of Salem's past headmasters and headmistresses, the vibrant throw rugs, the colorful flowers growing from pots sitting on the window sills. The whole office looked much the same as the last time he'd been in it three years ago.

"I take it this is your first time at Salem, Miss Miradeaux?" Esmeralda waved them to a pair of padded, high-back chairs in front of her large oak desk.

"_Oui," _she answered, waiting for the headmistress to sit before she seated herself. "You have a very lovely campus."

"Thank you. Granted, it's no Beauxbatons, what with that crystalline palace of yours. I always thought yours was one of the most beautiful schools in the world."

"_Merci,_ Madam Headmistress. That is very kind of you to say."

Esmeralda smiled, then turned her attention to O'Bannon. "So, Jimmy. What is it you wanted to talk to me about?"

He shifted in his seat. "Well, um . . . I felt like I needed to come here to apologize to you."

A quizzical look settled over the headmistress' face. "Apologize to me? For what?"

"For leaving the Wizarding World. For trying to forget about everything and everyone here, even the people who died in the war." He sighed, averting his gaze from Headmistress Esmeralda's for a moment. "You gave me so much help when I was going here. You were the one who picked me to study at Hogwarts for a year. You can't believe how much I owe you for that. Then when the war came, you depended on for so much. And what do I do to show my gratitude? I turned my back on you, on everyone in this world."

He waited for her to say something. Instead silence hung in the air. He held his breath, watching as Headmistress Esmeralda's shoulders rose and fell with slow breaths. The anxiety returned, coiling itself around his insides.

"I must admit, Jimmy," she finally spoke. "When I received word you were leaving the Wizarding World, I was very disappointed."

He braced himself for another outburst similar the ones he got from Rosa and Darius.

_Why not? I probably deserve it._

"But . . ." Headmistress Esmeralda's face softened. "War affects everyone differently. Some return from the fighting able to resume their lives without any problem. Others are so traumatized by what they've seen it destroys them. I've seen my fair share of wizards and witches afflicted with uncontrollable bouts of anger, depression, nightmares, outright insanity. Some turn to alcohol or mind-altering substances, thinking it will help them deal with their problems. Usually it just makes things worse."

"Yeah, I know." Again, O'Bannon avoided Headmistress Esmeralda's eyes.

"Oh?"

He sighed. "I boozed it up quite a bit when the nightmares got to be too much. Hell, to be honest, I was an alcoholic. It wasn't until Mireet showed up out of the blue one night that I started to get my sh . . . er, stuff together."

"You didn't seek out any help before then?" the headmistress asked.

O'Bannon slumped in his seat. "No," he muttered.

"Why not?"

"Because I was a leader. When you're a leader, you're not supposed to show weakness. You have to be strong, you have to look like you've got it together, at all times."

"But the war was over," Esmeralda said.

"I know, but . . . after all those years, all those battles and missions, with people looking to me for leadership, for hope, for inspiration . . . I don't know. Maybe it was all too ingrained in me. I just felt like I couldn't admit any kind of weakness to the people I led."

Headmistress Esmeralda dipped her head. She studied her folded hands for several, quiet seconds. "Then maybe it's me who should apologize to you."

O'Bannon's face scrunched in bafflement. "What?"

She looked up at him. "I'm starting to think I put too much responsibility on you too quickly. Most leaders work their way up through the ranks, gain experience in countless battles, have mentors to give them advice, to prepare them for what lies ahead. But in your case, I made you a wartime leader in an instant. I should have known better than to do that. But watching you during your time here at Salem, I saw a wizard not afraid to meet any challenge head on, who refused to quit no matter how great the odds, who had the ability to rally people to him, who stood up for himself and others, who exhibited toughness, loyalty, selflessness. All traits any good leader must have. Someone who would be valuable to the Guild of the Light. But you were still only seventeen. Perhaps I rushed you into a leadership role before you were truly ready."

"I think I proved I could handle it." An edge crept into his voice.

"I'm not saying you didn't, Jimmy. Looking at what you did in England, in the Appalachians, at Helghorst Island, you proved yourself a more than capable leader. But the best leaders know when to admit they need help. They know who they can turn to in confidence, know which of those closest to them will not look at them as weak. And they have to realize that, when it comes right down to it, they're human beings, just like everyone else. And all human beings, no matter how strong they might be, from time to time, need help."

O'Bannon frowned. "Yeah. I guess I'm finding that out."

"Your headmistress is right, Jimmy," Mireet said. She then looked to Esmeralda, as if seeking her permission to continue. The old witch nodded.

"You are one of the strongest people I have ever met." Mireet reached out and gripped his hand. "Even after what you have gone through this past year, my opinion of you has not changed. I told you my father had his problems with alcohol after the first war. I do not think any less of him. I believe that real strength is not keeping your problems to yourself, it is in confronting them, and defeating them, and seeking help from others to do that."

He just stared at her, noting the determination in her face.

"I couldn't have said it better myself," said Headmistress Esmeralda.

O'Bannon still kept his eyes on Mireet. Her words echoed in his head, as did the headmistress'. His face twisted into a scowl. Anger rose within him. Anger at himself. He shook his head and slammed himself into the back of the chair. "Merlin's beard, I feel like an idiot."

"Jimmy?" A puzzled look came over Mireet's face.

He sighed, his eyes flickering first to Headmistress Esmeralda, then to Mireet. "You're right. You're both right. I had so many people I could've gone to. You two. Rosa, Jared, Artimus, the Infantes, even my parents. But no, I had to be all macho, fool myself into believing I could handle it all on my own. Yeah, look how well that worked. I alienated I don't know how many people, I turned into a drunk, I almost got thrown in jail. I probably could have avoided all that if I'da just swallowed my damn pride and asked someone for help."

"Well you do have someone who is helping you." Headmistress Esmeralda glanced at Mireet. "And it does no good to dwell on the mistakes you've made and wish you never made them. No spell ever conceived can change the past. All you can do it learn from your mistakes, and try to rectify them."

The corners of O'Bannon's mouth twitched. "Yes, Headmistress."

"Well then . . ." Esmeralda got to her feet. Mireet immediately rose. _Probably a holdover from her Beauxbatons days, _O'Bannon thought, knowing that the students there always rose when their headmistress entered the room or got up from her seat.

He stood too as the headmistress continued. "I feel confident that you are on the right path, especially with this wonderful witch by your side." She glanced at Mireet.

"_Merci, _Madam Headmistress."

"Thanks for your time, Headmistress." He shook her hand. "I really appreciate it."

"Think nothing of it. If you ever need my help again, don't hesitate to owl me or Floo me or just come here. You'll always be welcome at Salem, both of you."

They both thanked her before leaving her office.

"Do you want to have lunch in Ovenderburg?" Mireet asked, referring to the wizarding town next to the school.

"Yeah, sure," O'Bannon muttered.

"Jimmy, what's wrong?"

He groaned as they continued down the dirt path leading to the front gate. "Just thinking about all the stuff you and Headmistress Esmeralda said back there."

"I thought you agreed with it."

"I do, it's just . . . it made me think of something my dad told me once."

"What is it?"

"That sometimes the only way to learn a lesson is to have a brick wall fall on you, then dig yourself out from under it."

Mireet smiled. "I think you have done a good job digging yourself out."

"I don't know. I feel like I've got a ways to go, and a lot of bricks to deal with, sort of speak."

Mireet's forehead crinkled. After a few contemplative seconds of silence, she responded, "You are talking about the people you still have to apologize to."

O'Bannon nodded. "Yup, and I think next up is someone I owe more than one apology to."

_**Who will Jimmy apologize to next? Find out in the next chapter. And after that apology, Jimmy and Mireet are off to England.**_


	10. The End Of The List

**CHAPTER 10: THE END OF THE **

* * *

O'Bannon's brain said _walk. _His legs, however, refused to obey, paralyzed by worry. He just stared at the rectangular, maroon and brown-brick house nestled against the woods.

_You know you gotta do it, so go do it._

He still didn't move.

"Jimmy?"

He turned to Mireet, who stood next to him.

"What's wrong?"

O'Bannon sighed. "Sorry. It's just . . . I keep thinking about that night, what I said to her. She got me out of a big jam, and look how I treated her. Why should she forgive me?"

"Because you are like family to her." Mireet wrapped her fingers around his arm. "Come on."

Holding his breath, he let Mireet lead him toward the house. He tried to ignore his pounding heart, instead searching for the right words for his apology.

_I've done this so many times already, you'd think I'd know it by heart._

But the words remained jumbled in his mind as they reached the door. He turned to Mireet, who nodded to him. Clenching a sweaty hand, he bit his lip and knocked on the door. Seconds passed with no answer. Part of him hoped there would be no answer.

He heard the click of the door handle from inside. A hot blade of nausea pierced his stomach as the door opened.

"Jimmy? Mireet?" The surprise was evident in the voice of Adelaide Infante.

"Um . . . hi, Mrs. Infante," he replied.

She blinked a couple times. "What brings you by here?"

"Uhhhh, well . . . I just . . . I had to see you face-to-face and talk to you."

Mrs. Infante tilted her head, a puzzled look on her face. "Of course. Come in, come in." She stepped aside and let the two of them inside.

O'Bannon deliberately avoided her gaze as he made his way to a couch on the other side of the living room. He scanned the multitude of framed moving photos lining the walls. One in particular caught his eye, a photo of him on graduation day from Salem, with Mr. and Mrs. Infante on either side of him, smiling.

_I can't believe she still has that picture up after what I did._

He lowered his head. Why hadn't he done this in Thailand when he was over there with Jared's and Rosa's family? But how could he, with everyone worried about Jared being in a coma. And considering his outburst when Mrs. Infante got him out of jail in Fort Wayne, he had done his best to keep his distance from her. Why would she want anything to do with him after he told her he didn't need any help from "you wand wavers" and to "leave me alone"?

He looked around the room, remembering all the times he'd stayed over here. All the times Mrs. Infante fixed him breakfast. All the times she gave him tips for his Defense Against the Dark Arts classes. Always making him feel welcome, feel like he was part of this family.

"Jimmy?" He heard Mrs. Infante's footsteps getting closer. He tensed when he felt the witch's hand on his shoulder. "Is everything ok-"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Infante." O'Bannon spun around to face her, taking short, quick breaths. He clenched his jaw, struggling to form an articulate response.

Instead the words spilled out of his mouth. "I'm sorry for yelling at you when you got me out of jail. I'm sorry for acting like such a prick. I'm sorry I turned my back on you, and Rosa and Jared and the rest of your family. You were always good to me, and I owe you so much, and . . . and I just crapped all over you, and I'm so sorry. Please, please believe me. I'm so sorry. I never meant to -"

"Jimmy. Jimmy!" Mrs. Infante put both hands on his shoulders. He instantly shut up.

She stiffened for a moment, then drew a slow breath. "It's all right. I forgive you."

The tension fled his body. His knees buckled. For an instant, he feared he might collapse.

Mrs. Infante wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into a hug. Tears built up behind his closed eyelids as he hugged her back.

_Don't cry. Whatever you do, don't cry._

"Thank you." He forced the words through the lump in his throat. "Thank you."

"There's no need to thank me."

"Yeah. Yeah, there is." O'Bannon lifted his face from Mrs. Infante's shoulder and looked her in the eye. "After what happened in Fort Wayne, and the way I left the Wizarding World, I thought you'd hate me."

"Hate you? Never. But . . . but it did hurt, you leaving, saying you didn't need me. You've come to mean so much to this family, Jimmy. And to hear those words come out of your mouth . . ."

Mrs. Infante's eyes glistened. O'Bannon wondered if she might cry. And Mrs. Infante hated to cry as much as Rosa.

"I'm sorry. I wish I could take it back. I really do."

"I know. I know. Come over here." She waved him over to the couch. He sat next to her, Mireet joining them moments later.

Mrs. Infante let out a sigh. "There's been enough anger in this family during the last two years. Too many hurtful words, too much blame being tossed around. It's like we all lost our heads after Liana's death. Couple that with everything that happened to Irving, it was like we wanted to stay mad at one another." She let out a sardonic laugh. "I can rebuild the entire Aurors Bureau, but I couldn't rebuild my own family."

She sniffled loudly, the veins of her neck sticking out. O'Bannon sensed she was trying to fight back the tears.

"Um, are things okay with you guys?"

Mrs. Infante flashed him a smile. "It's getting there. Rosa's not as mad at me as she once was. Irving feels like he has a sense of purpose again with all the training he's undergoing."

"What about Jared?"

A frown formed on Mrs. Infante's face. Her shoulders slumped. "Jared. Well, the couple times I've gone over my brother's house to check on his training, Jared pretty much keeps his distance, tries to not make eye contact. Sometimes I wonder if he'll ever forgive me."

"I'm sorry." O'Bannon gently squeezed Mrs. Infante's shoulder. The lump in his throat returned as he stared at the witch's distraught face.

_Dammit, Jared. Get over it already. _It surprised him that Jared hadn't reconciled with his aunt. Between the two cousins, Rosa was the one who generally held on to grudges. If Jared ever got mad at a friend or relative, that anger usually subsided after a day or two at most.

_At least, that was the case when he was happy-go-lucky Jared._ He hadn't seen that Jared in over two years.

Mrs. Infante took a deep breath and managed to smile. "I'm glad you came over. What you said, it meant a lot to me."

"I'm glad. I also owe you a better 'thank you' for getting me out of jail."

"I was happy to do it. Now what about you? How are you doing?"

"Better. I've been going around to all my friends from Salem, apologizing to them. Even went to see Headmistress Esmeralda yesterday. It's helping a lot."

"And the drinking?"

"I've been sober ever since Mireet came back into my life." O'Bannon gave her a warm smile, which she reciprocated. "And I intend to stay that way."

"Good for you. You don't know how happy I am to hear that." Mrs. Infante rose from the couch. "It is getting a bit late. Why don't you two stay for dinner?"

"Thank you, Mrs. Infante," O'Bannon said. "But we don't want to impose."

"You're not imposing, and I insist. Cesario's in California meeting with the regional administrators there, so I could use the company."

An hour later the three of them sat down to a meal of lemon garlic chicken with roasted potatoes and spinach. They ate and conversed. Mrs. Infante asked a string of questions regarding O'Bannon's season with the Fort Wayne Komets. "How many Muggles can fit inside one of those hockey buildings . . . do they show your games on those _tilly-vizors_ . . . how do you travel from one town to the next . . . You spend how many hours on a bus? How can Muggles stay sane cooped up in a vehicle for that long?"

The conversation continued long after dinner, covering a variety of topics. How things were going at the Aurors Bureau, Mr. Infante sparring with members of the Continental Wizarding Legislature over peace negotiations with the giants and reptoids, how O'Bannon's parents were doing.

"They're fine. But I guess I should tell you, my mom blames you guys for getting me involved in the war when I was still in school. She's pretty pissed."

Mrs. Infante lowered her head and sighed. "I guess I can't blame her. I'm sure she never expected to send her son off to a wizarding school and have him end up fighting in one of the greatest wars our world has ever known."

They continued talking for hours. It was just before 10:30 when the three of them said their good-nights.

"Don't be a stranger any more," Mrs. Infante said as she hugged O'Bannon. "Any time you want to talk, or just visit, you're always welcome here."

"Thank you, Mrs. Infante."

Hand-in-hand, he and Mireet headed outside. They just passed the anti-Apparation barrier when O'Bannon turned back to the house. A long sigh of relief escaped his lips. "Thank you, God. Thank you, thank you, thank you."

"Jimmy?" Mireet gave him a quizzical look.

"I'm just so glad everything worked out with Mrs. Infante. I mean, the way we were talking during dinner, after dinner, it felt so . . . normal. There were times I thought she might never want to talk to me, about anything."

Mireet bit down on her lower lip for a moment. "Jimmy, you must stop thinking this way."

His brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Lately I have felt every time you have visited someone, you think they will not accept your apology. You have been like this since your visit with Darius."

"You said it yourself. I can't expect everyone to be as forgiving as Mrs. Infante or Headmistress Esmeralda."

"No, but neither should you go into every meeting expecting to fail." Mireet held both his hands. "Remember when we were on the Triad. What was the one thing you constantly told us? You must go into every game with a positive mental attitude. You need to start doing that here as well."

The corners of his mouth twisted. He stared at the darkened ground, contemplating Mireet's words. She was absolutely spot on, as the Brits would say.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right." O'Bannon looked up at her. "God, how did I get to this point?" He paused. "Actually, I know the answer. Seems like ever since the war ended, nothing's gone right with my life. That makes it kinda hard to believe things will work out for the best."

"I think many things have gone right for you since you returned to this world." She smiled, and gentley kissed him on the lips.

"Yeah, I guess having an incredibly gorgeous French witch for a girlfriend qualifies as something that's gone right."

They kissed again.

"You have had many more successes than failures reconciling with those you care about," Mireet told him. "You should be encouraged by that."

A smile spread across his face. "Thanks." He hugged her tight. All negative thoughts, all worries, vanished from his mind. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Mireet."

He felt her breath stagger. She embraced him tighter.

O'Bannon had no idea how much time passed before they released one another. Two sharp cracks split the night air as they Apparated back to Boston.

**XXXXX**

O'Bannon's attitude did become more positive as May gave way to June. Most of his meetings with former classmates had gone well as they accepted his apology. Terrance Kirby went so far as to say he completely understood why he left the Wizarding World.

"If I were a Muggle-born I'd probably run off to that world, given the stuff I saw during the war."

Some, like Abigail Aguirre, proved less forgiving, accusing him of being disrespectful to people like Eli Witting, one of her closest friends at Salem who died during the Second Battle of Helghorst Island.

On this day, he met with Crea Cardwell, one of the children he'd protected during the war. She readily accepted his apology. Actually, his meetings with the children had been among the easiest. Hardly any of them felt betrayed by his leaving the Wizarding World.

"You got to play for a real hockey team in the Muggle World," Madison Yarroway had said when he visited him. "That had to be cool."

After saying good-bye to Crea, O'Bannon and Mireet Disapparated between a large elm tree and a row of hedges two houses down from his parents.

_Okay, so who do I have left?_ He went down his mental list of names as he and Mireet approached his parents' house. The headmistress and his teachers – at least the ones he liked – done. Former classmates, done. The children. Crea had been the last one he needed to visit.

_So that means . . ._

Nervousness swirled inside him. He wasn't done with his apologies. Not by a long shot.

O'Bannon opened the front door and entered the living room, followed by Mireet. Dad was sitting in his easy chair watching the local news. Mom had to be in the kitchen, judging by the saucy aroma that tinged the air. Smelled like chicken cacciatore.

"Jimmy? Mireet? Is that you?" Mom called from the kitchen.

"Yeah, Mom. We're home."

Moments later, Mom stepped into the living room, a red apron tied around her. "So had did things go with, what was that girl's name?"

"Crea Cardwell. Things went great. I only spent a minute or so apologizing to her. After that, she spent the rest of the time talking about going to Fantimoor in the fall. Dang, I can't believe she's gonna to start school already."

"So how many more people do you still have to see?" asked Mom.

"Actually, that's all of them."

"Really?"

He simply nodded.

Dad got out of his seat and came over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I have to tell you, Jimmy, I'm really proud of you. I know seeing all those people and making amends with them couldn't have been easy. But you did it, and I hope it helped you."

"Thanks, Dad. And yeah, it did help a lot."

"Good. Well now that you've gotten through all this, I think it's time for a little relaxation. The Red Sox are going to be back in town this weekend playing the Indians. What say I get us some tickets? Mireet, I don't know how much you're into baseball, if at all, but you're welcome to come, too."

O'Bannon turned to Mireet, then looked back to his father. "Um, thanks, Dad. But I don't think I'm gonna be able to do that."

"Why not?"

"When I said I don't have anyone left to apologize to, I meant in this country. Tomorrow I'm gonna get in touch with the Office of International Magical Travel and make arrangements for our trip."

"Trip to where?" asked Mom.

He turned toward her and answered. "England."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	11. Clash At The Cauldron

**CHAPTER 11: CLASH AT THE CAULDRON**

* * *

O'Bannon nibbled on his bagel. He wanted to eat more, but jolts of nervousness stabbed his stomach. In less than an hour he'd be port keying to Great Britain. How would his friends over there greet him? What if they didn't forgive him for running out on the Wizarding World?

_Come on. You had a lot more successes than failures here. Britain should be no different._

No matter how many times he told himself that, he still couldn't fully believe it. His British friends had been at ground zero in the war. How many of them had been tortured by the Carrows when they lorded over Hogwarts? What sort of fear did Ginny Weasley and Ernie MacMillan and Michael Corner live in, knowing one wrong word would earn them a Cruciatus Curse?

He shivered, remembering the night he received that curse from Merek Mather.

O'Bannon forced himself to take another bite of his bagel. In the nine months he and his friends had protected the children in the Appalachians, how many days had they faced real danger? A handful?

The boys and girls who'd been at Hogwarts had faced it every day. They stayed in the Wizarding World, while he ran away from it.

"Jimmy, are you okay?"

He stared across the table at Mom, her face a mask of concern.

"Um . . . yeah, I'm fine. Just a little anxious about the trip, you know?"

Mom nodded, though she didn't seem convinced. What he said hadn't been a lie, but neither had it been the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

After breakfast, O'Bannon went to the bathroom, then into his room where his suitcase laid on the bed. He opened it and did one final check of the contents. A smile passed over his lips. He'd forgotten how nice it was to have a magical suitcase bigger on the inside than the outside, and to need just a couple minutes to pack all his stuff with a wave of a wand. It made him wonder how he got along for all those months spending fifteen to twenty minutes jamming everything by hand into a normal suitcase for road trips with the Komets.

He headed downstairs. Mireet and his parents stood near the front door. Mom let out a long sigh, er eyes glistening behind her glasses.

"You . . . You got everything?" She nodded to his suitcase.

"Yeah." He shifted his weight from one leg to the other. After exhaling, he looked Mom in the eyes. "Thanks for letting us stay here. And . . . thanks for being so understanding. I know you would've rather had me just stay here in the Muggle World, so . . . thanks."

Mom forced a smile, though her jaw quivered a bit. She reached out and cupped his cheek. "I know the last couple of years haven't been easy for you. If going back to the Wizarding World can help you get over what happened to you during that war, I can accept that."

O'Bannon swallowed against the lump in his throat and hugged her. "Thanks, Mom."

As he went over to Dad, he saw Mom step over to Mireet. She stared at the tall French witch for a few silent seconds, then took a deep breath. "Thank you for all you've done to help Jimmy. I appreciate it."

"You are welcome. I would do anything for Jimmy."

Mom leaned forward, hesitated, then put her arms around Mireet, who hugged her back.

After another round of good-byes, Mireet picked up her suitcase and Sirona's cage and followed O'Bannon out the door. The port key had been set up two blocks away, at the edge of a pond in a small wooded area. He knew it well. He'd grown up skating and playing hockey on that same pond.

He kept quiet as they walked through the suburban neighborhood. Mainly he thought about his game plan for when he got to England. Much as he wanted to, he decided _not_ to see George Weasley first. No way in hell would that meeting be easy, if George even wanted to see him at all.

Plus, he wanted some momentum going into that meeting. If he could square things with a few other friends first, he would feel more confident dealing with George. But who to see first? Dean Thomas? No, not after what he endured as a prisoner at Malfoy Manor. Seamus Finnigan? No. Aside from being hot-headed, his half-blood status had made him a favorite target of the Carrows at Hogwarts. How would they react to someone who fled the Wizarding World not having gone through a quarter of what they did?

The Hufflepuffs might be a good start. That was the house of friendship and understanding and holding hands and singing "Kumbaya" after all.

_Don't make fun, O'Bannon. Remember, the Sorting Hat almost put you in Hufflepuff._

So Ernie MacMillan, Susan Bones, Justin Finch-Fletchley and Gordon Summerby would be first on his list. If all went well with them, he could move on to George. If they managed to patch things up, he could apologize to the rest of the Weasleys plus Harry Potter. They would undoubtedly be more willing to forgive him if George did. The same with Lee Jordan and the Gryffindor Chaser girls, Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell.

It sounded good in theory. Having it actually work was another matter entirely.

O'Bannon and Mireet turned the corner and walked down the dead end street. A wooden clapboard house in need of a new coat of red and white paint marked the end of the asphalt and the beginning of the woods. Using his wand, he flattened the knee high weeds, making a path to the pond. At the bank, next to a little outcropping of rocks, was the port key, disguised as a blue plastic milk crate.

Standing around it were three familiar people. O'Bannon stared at Rosa, Jared and Artimus, mouth agape.

"Oh my God. What are you guys doing here?"

"What do you think?" Jared said. "We're here to say good-bye."

"I did that with you guys last night."

"Hey, who knows when we're gonna see you guys again?" Rosa stepped forward. "What kind of friends would we be if we didn't show up here to give you a proper send off?"

O'Bannon felt his throat constrict. A sliver of shame cut through him. How could he ever have thought about abandoning three friends like these?

"Thanks, guys. I really appreciate it."

They exchanged handshakes, backslaps and hugs, and in Mireet's case, kisses on the cheek.

"Everything will work out fine in England," Rosa said as she hugged him. "You'll see."

"I hope you're right."

"Hey, positive thoughts." She gently slapped his shoulder. "Isn't that what you used to tell us before hockey games at Salem?"

"Yeah, I did."

"So then take your own advice."

He couldn't help but smile as he hugged Rosa again. After he let go of her, Jared came over.

"Tell the gang in England we all said hi."

"You got it." O'Bannon nodded. A wry grin formed on his lips. "Anyone in particular you want me to say hi to for you? Like certain DA members of the female persuasion?" After their mission involving the Longathian Tunnel, every time the subject of England came up, Jared couldn't help but talk about all the hot girls at Hogwarts, especially Angelina and the Patil twins.

The veins in Jared's neck stuck out. He gazed at the dirt and grass around his shoes, then looked back up at him. "Um, no, that's okay."

O'Bannon's brow crinkled. He noticed Rosa's face ablaze with shock. He studied Jared closely, noticing how he didn't smile, how he avoided eye contact with anyone. The old Jared would have said something like, "Tell those British girls I'm still available. First come, first serve." The fact he didn't proved to him there was a long way to go before he saw that Jared again.

"Well . . ." O'Bannon gazed at his three friends. "I guess we better get going."

"Best of luck over there," Artimus said.

"Thanks, man."

"_Au revoir_." Mireet waved to them. "I hope we see you all soon."

"You keep him out of trouble," Rosa said with a grin.

Mireet softly chuckled. "I will."

O'Bannon crouched, Mireet doing the same next to him. Taking a deep breath, he looked over at her. "You ready?"

"_Oui."_ She nodded.

He looked back at the milk crate, bit his lip, then took hold of it. Mireet then reached out for it.

Gale force winds howled around him. His fingers tightened around the crate as the world spun. He tried to glance over to make sure Mireet was all right, but could barely keep his eyes open against the wind.

Suddenly it stopped. O'Bannon opened his eyes. Rolling green fields stretched before him. Numerous white cottages dotted the countryside.

They were in England.

"Well, we made it." He straightened up and rubbed his head.

"Are you all right?" asked Mireet.

"Yeah, just a little dizzy. Never was a big fan of port keys."

"I think a few moments of discomfort is better than spending hours on a Muggle aeroplane to come here."

"Yeah, I guess." He scanned the hill they stood on. Any second now someone from the Ministry of Magic should Apparate here and –

_Crack!_

He turned to the left and saw a young man with dark hair and wearing navy blue robes.

"Good afternoon. On behalf of the Ministry of Magic, welcome to Eng-" The young man's mouth hung open. His eyes widened. "Merlin's beard. Jimmy? Mireet?"

O'Bannon's jaw dropped when he recognized the young man standing in front of him.

It was Terry Boot. Ravenclaw House, and a former teammate of his on the Triad.

"_Bonjour_, Terry," Mireet greeted him. "It is good to see you again."

It took O'Bannon a few seconds to find his voice. "Um . . . hey, Terry."

Anxiety twisted his insides. He never expected to run into one of his British friends as soon as he landed in this country. What should he say? Should he apologize right off the bat? How would Terry react? Would he be understanding, or pissed off?

To his surprise, a broad grin stretched across Terry's face. He bounded over to them.

"Bloody hell! I can't believe it's you!" Terry shook O'Bannon's hand so vigorously he feared his shoulder would be pulled out of its socket. He couldn't say a word, shock paralyzing his tongue. He never expected this sort of greeting from anyone in Britain.

"And a pleasure to see you again, _Mademoiselle._"

"_Merci."_ Mireet hugged Terry and pecked both his cheeks. "It has been too long."

Terry swung his head back and forth between them. "So what brings you two to England? For that matter, what are you even doing here at all, Jimmy? That last letter I got from you, it sounded like you were going back to the Muggle World for good."

"Yeah, well, that's one of the reasons I'm here."

Terry's face scrunched in bewilderment.

"I had to see you guys again. Just set things right."

Terry looked to the sky in thought for a moment. His eyebrows rose in understanding. "Oh. Right then. Well, before you do any of that, you'd best let me get on with my job."

"Huh?"

"Why do you think I Apparated here? I'm working for the Office of Documentation of International Magical Visitors." Terry cleared his throat and spoke in a mock officious tone. "Passports, if you please."

Both he and Mireet grinned as they handed over their passports. After quick taps with his wand, Terry handed them back. Words scrolled under O'Bannon's moving photo. _The Ministry of Magic hereby grants permission to James Michael O'Bannon, a wizarding citizen of the United States of America, to move freely within the borders of the United Kingdom._

"So where are you two off to now?" Terry asked

"Um, I figured we'd find a hotel to check into," O'Bannon answered.

"Oh, there's plenty of time for that." Terry gave him a dismissive wave. "Apparate back with me to the Ministry. There are some other people there who'd like to see you."

His insides tightened with anxiety. He hadn't expected to meet with anyone he knew here so soon. He hadn't expected Terry to be so enthusiastic at seeing him. And who were these other people he wanted him to see? What if they weren't as excited to see him as Terry?

He turned to Mireet. She regarded him for a few quiet seconds before nodding.

Exhaling through his teeth, he looked back at Terry. "Um, yeah sure. Let's go."

Three sharp cracks split the air. Moments later the trio Disapparated in an alley next to an overflowing dumpster. O'Bannon saw Mireet's face wrinkle with disdain. He couldn't blame her. The raw, stale odor from the dumpster was almost overwhelming.

"Ugh!" Terry waved a hand in front of his face. "Let's go, before I vomit."

They followed Terry out of the alley and toward a dilapidated gray office building stained with graffiti. They went through the door, down the grimy hallway, and into a very old-looking elevator that looked like it couldn't support the weight of one person, let alone three.

Despite that, they entered it. Terry slid the rusted grilles closed and punched a big red button on the side.

O'Bannon jerked as the elevator suddenly dropped. He gritted his teeth, his stomach shooting up into his throat. Any moment he expected to fly off the floor and smash into the ceiling.

The elevator jerked to a halt.

Terry yanked the grilles back and spread out his arms. "Welcome to the Ministry of Magic."

He and Mireet stepped out of the elevator.

"Whoa." O'Bannon gawked at everything around him; the peacock-blue ceiling with constantly changing gold symbols, the shiny dark walls with numerous gilded fireplaces, the large fountain with golden statues.

"This is a very impressive facility you have," Mireet said with breathless appreciation.

"Eh, it's all right," Terry shrugged, giving them a mischievous wink.

They proceeded to the security desk, where O'Bannon and Mireet checked in their wands and were issued a silver visitor's badges. The three then took an elevator to the fifth floor, and the International Magical Office of Law.

"This way." Terry waved them forward. "Do try and keep up."

O'Bannon couldn't help but grin. It amazed him that despite all he must have gone through during the Carrows' reign of terror at Hogwarts, Terry still managed to hold on to his sense of humor.

The Ravenclaw made a sudden turn to the left and pounded on the side of the door frame. "Oi! Anthony! Break time."

"I'm busy, Terry."

O'Bannon's eyes widened when he recognized the voice.

"Too busy to see an old friend?"

"What are you on about?"

Terry waved them over. Hesitating for a moment, O'Bannon headed over and peered around the doorframe.

Anthony Goldstein leaned back in his chair, mouth agape, eyes unblinking behind his glasses.

"Um . . . hey, Anthony."

The former Triad player, and Ravenclaw, shook his head, trying to regain his composure. "Jimmy? Well this is certainly a surprise."

"Not just Jimmy." Terry moved aside to let Mireet stand in the doorway. "_Bonjour, _Anthony. It is good to see you again."

"You too. Both of you." Anthony got up from behind is immaculate desk and walked over to them. He gave O'Bannon a hearty handshake, while Mireet gave him a hug and kisses on the cheeks.

He stared at Anthony, completely baffled. Where was the outrage at his leaving, at his insensitivity to what his British friends went through?

"Here, have a seat?" Anthony waved his wand and conjured up two chairs. Meanwhile, Terry plucked a small piece of parchment off the desk and wrote something on it.

"So how have you two been?" Anthony asked as he sat behind his desk.

"Okay," O'Bannon muttered. "All things considered."

A flicker of movement caught his eye. Terry chucked a paper airplane through the air. It banked left and disappeared down the hall.

"What's that for?" Anthony asked.

Terry grinned. "Just fetching someone else who I'm sure would like to see Jimmy and Mireet."

Anxiety crept through O'Bannon's stomach. Who did Terry want him to see now? Would he, or she, be as pleasant toward him as the two Ravenclaws?

_No way can my luck be that good._

He chewed on the inside of his cheek, his eyes flickering between Terry and Anthony. "Um, so what's new with you guys?"

"What's new?" Terry snorted. "Mate, we're just minor functionaries in the massive entity that is the Ministry of Magic. Not much exciting in our lives."

"I don't know," Anthony said. "I'm currently helping with a resolution for the International Confederation of Wizards to regulate the sale of Yeti hides. Countries like Nepal and China make a good amount of money off them, but it means those creatures are in danger of being hunted to extinction. The legal arguments, cultural considerations, recommended oversight measures, it's all very interesting."

"Yeah, you would find that interesting." Terry gave his friend a lopsided grin.

Anthony scowled at him. O'Bannon softly chuckled to himself.

_Jeez, it's like being back at Hogwarts again._

"So, Mireet." Anthony turned to her. "Are you still working for your embassy in The States?"

"_Oui, _though I am currently on a leave of absence to help Jimmy."

"Help with what?"

"Um, well, after what happened, I mean, with me leaving . . ." O'Bannon drew a deep breath. "I just feel like I owe you guys an apology."

Terry's beaming face transformed into a look of concern. "Well, this sounds serious. Maybe we should wait for Mike to get here."

O'Bannon's eyes widened. Mike? Mike as in . . .

A young man with shaggy black hair strode into the office.

"All right, Terry. What's so bloody important I had to rush up here and . . ."

Michael Corner's voice faded as he gaped at O'Bannon and Mireet. Tension seized O'Bannon's entire body. He clenched the armrests of his chair, wondering, dreading, how Michael would react.

To his surprise, the Ravenclaw smiled. "Well now. Here I thought you'd gone off to the Muggle World forever. Just couldn't stay away, could you?"

O'Bannon stood as Michael shook his hand and slapped him on the shoulder. "It's good to see you again, Jimmy. You too, Mireet."

"And you, Michael." She hugged him and kissed both his cheeks.

"So what brings you two back to England?" Michael's brow furrowed. His eyes darted between the two of them. "Hang on. You two aren't . . ."

A smile flashed across O'Bannon's face. He glanced at Mireet, then back at Michael. "Yeah, we are."

"Ha!" Terry barked. "About bloody time. You can only pine for one another for so long before you have to get down to some snogging."

Anthony groaned. "Real class, Ter. Real class."

Terry just smiled triumphantly.

O'Bannon laughed quietly, then gazed at the three Ravenclaws. His smile faded. His heartbeat increased, fueled by nervousness.

"So, um, Jimmy." Anthony leaned forward in his chair. "You said you had something you wanted to say to us?"

"Yeah, um . . . yeah." He inhaled slowly. "Look, we went through all kinds of hell during the war, and I . . . I'm sorry for what I did. I'm sorry I left this world. I'm sorry I tried to forget about you guys, about everyone here. You three endured a lot more here than I did in the US. To just up and leave, it was like a slap in the face to you guys. It was a mistake, I shouldn't have done it, and I'm sorry. I hope you understand . . . and I hope you can forgive me."

No one spoke. O'Bannon held his breath, his eyes jumping from one Ravenclaw to the other. He tried to gauge their expressions and figure out if he'd get an apology or an ass-chewing.

Terry finally cleared his throat. "So you really think we'd be mad at you for that?"

O'Bannon blinked, trying to digest what Terry had just said. "Why wouldn't you be? I abandoned you, this entire world, because dealing with all the stuff that happened during the war got too hard for me. I didn't see anyone else do that."

Terry snorted. "You think so? Mate, me grandparents are Muggles. After the war I spent six months with them. No Quidditch matches, no Floo calls, didn't even pick up my bloody wand during the whole time." His face sagged as he continued. "More than once I considered staying at their house forever. Any thought of doing magic just made me remember the war, all the stuff the Carrows did to us, the final battle."

"At least you came back," O'Bannon muttered.

"So did you."

"And Terry wasn't the only one to leave this world behind." Michael pressed his back against the wall. "A couple months after the war, Cho and I went over to Ireland, rented a little Muggle cottage in Kilcoole and stayed there for a while. Didn't do much of anything, 'cept take walks around the countryside, around the town, or just sat and talked about, well, anything. Everything. It helped a lot."

"It makes me wish I'd done the same." Anthony slowly rubbed his hands together. "Do you want to know how I coped with everything after the war? By getting pissed out of my mind at the pub almost every night."

O'Bannon nodded, knowing "pissed" in Britain meant getting drunk. "Yeah, I know that feeling. Believe me I do."

"When drinking didn't work, I tried throwing myself into work. But I still couldn't get the images of that night out of my head. Seeing Mandy . . ." Anthony's Adam's apple bobbed up and down. He stared at his desk for several seconds before continuing. "Seeing Mandy Brocklehurst lying . . . lying dead in the Great Hall, cursing myself for never having the courage to tell her how I felt about her. And Reginald Davidoff . . ."

O'Bannon furrowed his brow. "Who?"

"Another Ravenclaw, same year as us." Anthony nodded to Terry and Michael. "Quiet kid. We'd always gotten on quite well. During the battle we were near the greenhouse throwing curses at the Death Eaters when I saw a horde of acromantulas coming our way. I turned to warn Reginald. I barely got two words out of my mouth when a curse hit him. Took . . . took his head right off." Anthony visibly shivered. "Blood . . . Merlin, his blood hit me right in the face."

Again silence hung over the small room. Cold needles pricked O'Bannon's spine as he tried to imagine the scene Anthony descried. It didn't prove hard. He'd seen enough horrible death during the war. In a couple instances, he'd even caused it.

"I'm sorry, man."

"Thanks." Anthony kept his eyes glued to a spot on the desk.

O'Bannon shifted in his chair. "So, um, how did you wind up dealing with it?"

Anthony responded with a sardonic laugh. "I'm still trying to deal with it."

He just sighed and nodded, unable to think of anything to say.

"We all dealt with the war in our own way, mate," said Michael. "Terry goes off with his Muggle grandparents, Cho and I run off to some isolated cottage in Ireland. How can we be mad at you for doing what you did?"

"I didn't plan on coming back, Mike. That's the difference. I ran out on you guys."

"Bollocks." Michael's tone grew sharper. "You did your part during the war. You want to talk about people running out? Let's talk about those bastards from Slytherin. They couldn't get out of the bloody school fast enough when V-Voldemort and his bunch were storming the castle. And that was after that slag Pansy Parkinson tried to convince everyone to hand Harry Potter over to Lord Sucker-Of-Dragon-Balls."

"Oy! Don't forget about Zacharias Smith," Terry chimed in. "While the rest of us in the DA stayed behind to fight, that cowardly little plonker hoofed it to the evacuation point. Even knocked down some First Years he wanted out so bad. He ran away when it really counted. You didn't, Jimmy."

O'Bannon lowered his head, dwelling on Michael and Terry's words.

_I may not have run away during the fighting, but there were a lot of people who were hurting after the war. I could have stayed and helped them._

_And how could I have done that when I couldn't even help myself?_

He lifted his head and stared at the three Ravenclaws. The looks on their faces told the story. They had no need to forgive him. They never felt betrayed by him.

But maybe, O'Bannon thought, he needed to forgive himself.

"Thanks, guys. I really appreciate it."

"Oh don't get all mushy on us, Jimmy." Terry grinned. "It's been nearly a year since we last saw you two. We need to do some catching up, starting with how, after _five bloody years, _you finally got together."

O'Bannon and Mireet took turns relating that tale, with Terry – being Terry – letting out a whoop when they got to the part of snogging on the living room couch at his parents' house. After that, the three Ravenclaws updated them on how they got their jobs at the Ministry and how their families were doing.

Before they knew it, it was quitting time at the Ministry.

"Why don't we continue this at the Leaky Cauldron?" Terry suggested.

"I'm up for it," Michael said. "Though I can't stay too long. I'm having dinner at Cho's place in an hour. She won't like it if I'm late."

"Oh bloody hell." Terry rolled his eyes. "You two aren't even engaged yet and she's already leading you around by your John Thomas."

Michael scowled at Terry while O'Bannon snickered. Mireet's face scrunched in bafflement.

"Who is this John Thomas?"

Anthony blushed while Michael rubbed the back of his neck and looked to Terry. O'Bannon made it a point not to look at Mireet. His eyes happened to meet Terry's, who said to him, "She's your girlfriend, mate. You tell her."

Grimacing, he turned to Mireet. "Um, well, here in Britain it means . . ." He pointed to his waist, then waggled his index finger.

Mireet's eyes widened in realization. She aimed a scolding look at Terry. "Terry. Must you be so crude?"

"C'mon, hon," O'Bannon said. "This is Terry we're talking about."

Terry gave the French witch a semi-apologetic smile. She just shook her head.

"Come on, let's get over to the Cauldron," Anthony said.

The five left the Ministry and Apparated to the Leaky Cauldron. Several of O'Bannon's friends had talked about the famed wizarding pub during his year at Hogwarts. Anticipation welled up inside him. He pictured a crowded, boisterous place with barmaids with, to borrow from _Monty Python and the Holy Grail, _"huge tracts of land," and maybe even a band playing in the corner.

Instead he followed his friends into a dark and shabby pub with wooden tables and chairs that looked on the brink of collapse. While there were many people sitting and drinking and eating, their conversations were muted. He also noticed no busty bar maids, and note a single note of music played.

_Talk about not living up to the hype._

They found a circular table near the far side of the room and sat down.

"So . . ." Michael looked around at them. "Five pints, then?"

O'Bannon felt his insides tighten. A drink sounded good, a nice way to celebrate, to . . .

He closed his eyes, summoning up his willpower.

"Jimmy? You all right?" Anthony asked.

He opened his eyes and exhaled. "Um, actually, I think I'm gonna go with butterbeer."

The Ravenclaws looked to one another and nodded. O'Bannon had told them about his bout with alcoholism back at the Ministry.

A thin, wizened witch took their orders and shuffled off to the bar. As they waited for their drinks, Terry leaned forward. "Okay, Jimmy. So let's hear what it was like to be a professional hockey player."

"Sure. Let's see, where to begin? Well, why don't I start with the open tryout I went to, 'cause I ran into bunch of former Bruins who -"

"Angelina!"

Brow furrowed, he turned to Mireet and followed her gaze. His eyes widened when he saw the tall, dark-skinned woman with long curly hair.

Angelina Johnson stood behind Anthony's seat. The three Ravenclaws said hello to their former Triad teammate and DA comrade. She ignored them, her eyes locked on O'Bannon. He tried to read her face. Angelina tended to wear her emotions on her sleeve. But this time, her expression was indecipherable.

"Um, hey, Ang."

She said nothing, just continued to stare at him.

He got out of his seat and slowly walked around the table toward her. "It's good to see you again. Um, actually, I wanted to talk to you si-"

O'Bannon never had a chance to react as Angelina's fist smashed into his face.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	12. A New Approach

**CHAPTER 12: A NEW APPROACH**

* * *

Pain exploded through O'Bannon's jaw. He stumbled to his left. A variety of sounds filled his ears. Gasps of shock. Chairs scratching the wooden floor. Someone shouting, "You son-of-a-bitch!"

That had to be Angelina.

He regained his balance and turned to face his former classmate, who started to pull out her wand.

The three Ravenclaws jumped in front of her, hands up, trying to calm her down. Mireet gripped the handle of her wand.

"Angelina, stop!" She aimed a stern gaze at the tall Gryffindor. "What has gotten into you?"

Angelina ignored her, her fiery eyes locked on O'Bannon. "How dare you show your face here? How dare you!?"

Her wand came into full view. So did Mireet's.

"Everyone calm down!" Anthony pleaded.

"Mireet! Ang! Don't!" Michael waved his arms frantically, urging both witches to sheath their wands.

Suddenly a huge, broad-shouldered man with dark skin and a goatee came up behind Angelina. He wrapped his arms around her and yanked her away from the group.

"Let me go, Phillip! Dammit, let me go!"

O'Bannon realized who the large man was. Angelina's older brother, Phillip Johnson.

"Oy! What's all this then?" The old, bald bartender stomped over to them. "I'll have no fighting in my pub. What do you think this is? The Hog's Head? Out! The lot of you. Out!" He snapped his bar towel at them.

O'Bannon glimpsed Angelina pushing open the door leading outside, her brother at her heels.

"Ang. Ang, wait!" He grimaced, noticing a wet, coppery taste in his mouth. Blood.

He weaved his way past Mireet and the Ravenclaws and dashed for the door, hoping to catch Angelina before she Apparated.

_Is that such a good idea? _He rubbed his throbbing jaw. Trying to talk to Angelina in her current mood was inviting more than a busted lip.

It didn't matter. Punch or not, she was still his friend. He had to at least try to talk to her.

He charged out the door. Angelina stood on the sidewalk facing her brother, who gripped both her shoulders in an attempt to calm her down.

"Ang." He slowed his pace as he approached her.

Her head snapped toward him. A scowl formed on her face.

O'Bannon swallowed. "Ang, I know you're pissed at me, and I . . . I understand. You have every right to be. But let's just talk abo-"

"What makes you think I want to talk to you?"

"Ang, please. Just let me explain."

"Explain? And just what is it you want to explain?"

He drew a slow breath. "About me leaving. I just wanted to apologize. It was wrong of me to just walk out on everyone like that. Just, with everything that happened . . . I just couldn't deal with it anymore. I thought leaving this world behind, trying to forget about the war, I thought that would help. But it didn't. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I walked out on you guys."

Angelina's face twisted. Her head trembled in anger. "You're sorry? You think saying that makes up for what you did?"

"Ang, I wish I'd never -"

"You wish you'd never done it, is that it? Well you did do it, Jimmy." Audible breaths shot out her nose. "How could you? We befriended you. We helped make you feel a part of Hogwarts. And Fred. After all he did for you, you wanted to forget about him, just because dealing with everything that happened during the war was too hard for you? Do you think it hasn't been hard on anyone else? Do you think it hasn't been hard on me!?"

Angelina's eyes glistened. She took a staggered breath, struggling to not break down.

"Ang, I'm not saying -"

"Fred was . . ." Her jaw quivered. "I wanted to . . . I always . . . I was always too scared to tell him how I really felt, too scared if things went bad between us I'd lose him as a friend. Even after VVVoldemort took over I couldn't tell him . . . not a day goes by I don't regret ever telling Fred I loved him. I can't forget him. I don't want to forget him. So don't stand there and tell me you're sorry for trying to forget someone who treated you like a brother, you selfish bastard!"

Tears cascaded down Angelina's cheeks.

"Angelina," a new voice said.

O'Bannon turned and found Mireet standing behind him, along with Terry, Michael and Anthony.

"Angelina, please." Mireet stepped closer to her. "Jimmy truly regrets what he did."

"How can you defend him? He's been in love with you since we were at Hogwarts, and he walked out on you. Tried to forget you like he did Fred."

"Look, Angelina." Anthony cautiously stepped forward. "I don't think any of us were in our right minds after the war, and we all dealt with what happened in our own way."

"I didn't ask for your opinion, Goldstein!" Angelina bared her teeth.

Anthony retreated a couple steps.

"Angelina, please." O'Bannon held out his hands, palms upturned, pleading. "I'm sorry. I am so sorry."

"Go to hell! I never want to see you as long as I live!" She stormed off.

"Ang, wait!" He started after her.

"I think you should leave her alone." Phillip stepped in front of him.

He ignored him and peered around wizard's massive frame. "Ang! Ang, please!"

"I said leave her alone." Phillip's baritone voice became ominous.

O'Bannon looked up at him. Phillip had to be six-six, and probably had seventy or eighty pounds over him, all of it muscle. His narrowed eyes and unsmiling, compact face made him even more intimidating.

At least, he'd be intimidating to most people. As a hockey player, O'Bannon was used to taking on people bigger than him. If Phillip thought standing in front of him and looking tough would make him back down, he had another thing coming.

O'Bannon started to ball up his fists, then stopped. He pushed down the aggressiveness that always reared itself in situations like these. Angelina was pissed off enough at him already. Getting into a fight with her brother would only make things worse.

Sighing, he took a big step backwards. Phillip gave him a parting glare and headed over to his sister. O'Bannon just watched as they Apparated away.

His eyes lingered on the spot where Angelina and Phillip had stood only seconds ago. His breathing increased, fueled by anger, anger at his failure.

He scanned the sidewalk until he spotted a garbage can. Jaw clenched, he stomped over to it and kicked it. It toppled over, spilling all manner of debris onto the sidewalk. He growled and kicked the garbage can again.

It still didn't make him feel better.

**XXXXX**

Terry insisted O'Bannon and Mireet stay the night at his place. The Ravenclaw had an apartment – flat, in Britain – on the top floor of Gladrags Wizardwear in Hogsmeade. After leaving their luggage in the flat, they accompanied Terry to the Three Broomsticks for dinner. The three mainly ate in silence, despite Terry's best efforts to get a conversation going on O'Bannon's season with the Fort Wayne Komets. But he wasn't in the mood to talk about his hockey career. His disastrous encounter with Angelina dominated his mind.

He continued to think about it hours later, as he lay in the bed Terry had transfigured for him. A few times he ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth. Mireet had used a simple healing spell to fix his bloody lip that resulted from Angelina's punch. Still taste of blood and the throbbing pain were fresh in his mind.

O'Bannon tried to forget about it. He'd suffered much, much worse than a bloody lip in his life. Instead he concentrated on the incident with Angelina, breaking it down, dissecting every word, trying to see how he could have handled it differently.

Frustration grew inside him when he couldn't find any alternatives. Hell, every time he'd opened his mouth, Angelina cut him off, hurling insults and accusations at him. He knew from his Hogwarts days that trying to reason with an enraged Angelina Johnson was akin to trying to stop a flood with a sponge.

Simply put, it had been a contest he had no chance of winning.

O'Bannon thumped his mattress with a fist. He rolled on his side and shut his eyes tight, trying to force himself to sleep.

It didn't work. Not only was he aggravated over not being able to reconcile with Angelina, but his body just wasn't ready to fall asleep. While it may be close to midnight here in England, his body clock was still working on Boston time. And back there it was closer to dinner time.

Snorting, he threw the covers off him and got out of bed. He stepped softly across the spare room, keeping one eye on Mireet, who slept in the other single bed Terry had conjured. Satisfied he hadn't wakened her, he crept into the small hallway.

"_Lumos,"_ he whispered. The tip of his wand glowed. He shone it on the ceiling until he spotted the small wooden hatch Terry had shown him during the tour of his apartment. With another wave of his wand, a ladder grew from the ceiling. O'Bannon climbed it and opened the hatch as quietly as possible. He went through it and emerged on the flat roof. He sat cross-legged, staring into the distance, his eyes locked on a large jagged silhouette. Even in the dead of night, he instantly recognized the shape.

Hogwarts.

He sighed, memories of his one year there flashing through his mind. His rough first few weeks there, all the mistakes he made that cost Gryffindor House points and alienated his classmates. The first time he showed Fred and George the game of hockey. Creating the Triad. Taking Mireet to the Yule Ball. Forming friendships that endured long after he returned to America.

_Not all those friendships endured, though._

"Jimmy?"

He looked over his shoulder and saw Mireet climbing through the open hatch and onto the roof.

"I heard you getting out of bed," she said as she sat next to him.

"Sorry. I tried not to wake you."

"Do not worry. I could not sleep, either. I'm not even tired. I think my body still believes it should be early evening, not midnight."

"Yeah. Ditto here."

Mireet leaned against him. O'Bannon rested his cheek against her soft hair and wrapped an arm around her waist. They sat together in silence, just staring at the darkened outline of Hogwarts.

"It was a memorable year there, was it not?" Mireet asked.

"You can say that again. Made a lot of friends there, too. Now . . ."

Mireet sighed and gently gripped his leg. "Jimmy, please."

"Well what am I supposed to think? Angelina nearly knocked my teeth out. If she reacted like that to seeing me, how will someone like Lee react? Or Alicia or Katie or Harry or the Weasleys? My God, what's gonna happen when I go see George? He'll probably hit me with a Fire Rash Curse before I can get the word 'hello' out of my mouth."

Shoulders slumped, he lowered his head, staring at the roof's surface.

Mireet placed a hand between his shoulderblades and rubbed small, slow circles on his back. "You are not thinking of giving up, are you?"

"No. I don't . . . no. No, I quit on this world once. I'm not doing it again. But how the hell can I make things right with George and the rest if I'm gonna get punched, yelled at or cursed before I can get a sentence out?"

There was a long pause before Mireet answered. "Perhaps you need to consider a new approach. Your methods can be rather . . . direct."

O'Bannon responded with a snorting laugh.

Mireet cocked her head. "What is so funny?"

"One of my old girlfriends at Salem, Penny Nichols, said that to me once. 'You're just a very direct person, Jimmy,' she said. And she didn't mean it as a compliment. I don't know what other approach to use. I see a problem, I try to solve it. That simple."

"That is admirable. But after today, it may be time to consider another strategy other than blurting out you are sorry the moment you see any of our friends."

"All right, what then? Give 'em a Floo call and tell them to meet me somewhere? What's to stop them from cutting me off the moment they see my face? Forget an owl. They'll probably throw away any letter they see my name on. So how else can I get through to them?"

He waited for Mireet to answer . . . waited . . . waited.

He finally turned to his girlfriend. A crest-fallen look came over her face. "I . . . I can't think of anything. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He hugged her and pulled her against his chest, kissing her head. "You've already helped me so much the last couple of months."

"_Merci."_ She hugged him tighter.

They hugged each other tighter, O'Bannon gazing at the dark profile of Hogwarts. He sighed as another memory surfaced, a memory of one wizard in particular.

"I wish he was still here."

"Who?" Mireet asked.

"Headmaster Dumbledore. The guy just seemed so wise. Any problem that came up, he solved it. And I just feel like he could be so forgiving."

He groaned, releasing Mireet and turning to face Hogwarts. "But no sense in wanting to see someone who's dead, is there? And I'll be damned if I can think of anyone who's alive we can go to for advice."

"What about the current headmistress, Professor McGonagall? She was the head of Gryffindor House when you were at Hogwarts."

"Professor McGonagall? Forget it. She's not exactly the warmest person in the world. Besides, she'll probably give me a lecture on how I dishonored Gryffindor House when I left the Wizarding World."

"There is nobody else?" asked Mireet. "No other teachers at Hogwarts you turn to for advice?"

O'Bannon worked his jaw back and forth, thinking. Who else at Hogwarts could he ask? Professor Sprout? She was a nice enough witch. Hagrid? He was an okay guy. But they didn't strike him as people you went to for really serious personal advice. Professor Binns? Yeah, right. The ghost probably never realized O'Bannon had even been in his History of Magic class. Professor Flitwick? He had been his favorite teacher at Hogwarts. Plus the guy was head of Ravenclaw House, the house of wit and wisdom.

His brow furrowed, thinking of another Ravenclaw who had a rather unique brand of wisdom.

_You can't be serious about this._

_Why not? Mireet said I need a new approach, and I might get one hell of a new approach if I go through with this._

"Jimmy?" Mireet gazed at him curiously. "You have someone in mind, don't you?"

The veins in his neck stuck out. "Yeah, I do. God help me, but I do?"

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	13. The Emissary

**CHAPTER 13: THE EMISSARY**

* * *

Despite all the time he'd spent in England over the years, this was Jimmy O'Bannon's first time in Diagon Alley. He walked along the cobbled street, hand-in-hand with Mireet, gazing at everything. The place didn't seem much different from Milmothryn Market in Boston, except most of the buildings were made of stone and mortar instead of wood. Many of the shops were similar to the ones back home. An apothecary, a wand store, a book store, a cauldron shop. Only the names were different.

Gringotts, however, stood out. The snowy white building with burnished bronze doors towered over everything. Definitely a hell of a lot more impressive-looking than Arcurgento's, the wizarding bank in Milmothryn Market. That was a simple two-story structure with a silver and white colonial façade. Arcurgento's also didn't have a goblin standing by the door like at Gringotts. Then again, very few goblins lived in America.

Apprehension crept through O'Bannon as he and Mireet passed Eeylops Owl Emporium. They only had a couple more blocks to go before they reached their destination.

_You sure you know what you're doing, O'Bannon?_ He couldn't count how many times he'd asked himself that question since he woke up.

He held his breath as he approached a building that resembled an enlarged shack painted in every color imaginable at it. Flower pots dangled from the overhang, while stuff that looked like orange garland surrounded the two windows. A wooden sign on the front of the overhang displayed two words in fancy script.

_The Quibbler. _

"Please don't let me regret this," he muttered under his breath, eyes aimed at the overcast London sky.

"Did you say something?" Mireet asked.

He glanced at her, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Um . . . no. Nothing important."

Without another word, he led her into the building. They went up the winding staircase. Up, up, up. At one point O'Bannon worried they'd end up going in circles forever.

Then his foot hit the landing.

The little office had three cluttered desks and a carpet that resembled pink grass. Colorful images of creatures dashed about the blue walls. Strange creatures with wings or horns or fur or scales, none of which O'Bannon recognized.

One wall, however, did not display any creatures. It showed an enlarged cover of _The Quibbler _with Harry Potter's face and the words, "HARRY POTTER SPEAKS AT LAST: THE TRUTH ABOUT HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED AND THE NIGHT I SAW HIM RETURN."

"I remember this one." He stepped closer to the cover, Mireet at his side. "Ginny showed me a copy of this when I stayed with the Weasleys. Harry did this interview back when the Ministry of Magic was giving him crap for saying Voldemort was back. Ginny said this was the highest selling issue of _The Quib-"_

"Who are you?"

They both spun around in surprise at the gravely voice. A portly man with receding brown hair and olive drab robes eyed them suspiciously.

"The Ministry didn't send you here, did they?" he demanded to know. "You lot can't tell us what to print, you know? Not like when Fudge or Voldemort's lackeys ran things."

"Um, no." O'Bannon shook his head. "I'm not with the Ministry."

"You're a Yank. What would a Yank be doing here?" The man's eyes shifted slowly from left to right, as though mulling something over. "You saw our article a few months back on the persecution of Chupacabra by your Department of Magic, didn't you?"

"What?" O'Bannon's face scrunched in confusion.

"Hunted down and exterminated like pests over there, they are. Even we British don't do that to garden gnomes. The way you Yanks act, you'd think Chupacabra were as dangerous as werewolves."

"To be honest, the Chupacabra I've run into are just as dangerous as any werewolf."

"A-ha!" The wizard stabbed a finger at him. "Working for the Department of Magic, are you? Come to tell me to stop writing, are you? Well you Yanks got no authority in this country. None! So you best go back to Washington."

"Look! I don't work for the Department of Magic, and if you want to write about Chupacabra, fine. Whatever. I'm just here to see -"

"Hello, Jimmy. Hello, Mireet."

The airy voice floated through the room. O'Bannon spotted a very familiar witch strolling past the desks toward them.

"You know these two, Luna?" asked the weird wizard.

"Oh yes," replied Luna Lovegood. "They're friends of mine. Well, Jimmy is. I think. I'm not entirely sure he considers me a friend, though he usually is nice to me. And I've only met Mireet briefly, but she seems nice."

O'Bannon titled his head, gaze aimed at the ceiling, wondering how to respond to that. In the end all he could come up with was, "Uh, hey, Luna. How are you doing?"

"Much better today. Dean managed to buy some new hockey pucks yesterday and I placed them around the building. That should keep the wrackspurts out for a while."

"Uh-huh." He tried not to roll his eyes. Again, he wondered whether going to Luna Lovegood for advice was a good idea.

"So why are you here?" Luna tilted her head, her large eyes unblinking.

"Um, well, I . . . we're actually here to see you."

"Really? You mean like a visit? That's very nice of you. Actually, I seem to be dealing with more visitors since I've been going with Dean. Though most of those visitors have been for Dean. Of course, he does have more friends and family than I do."

"Uh . . ." Again, he wasn't sure how to respond. He also experienced that feeling he usually got around Luna. Part of him felt uncomfortable, and part of him felt sorry for her.

"Come on. We can use Daddy's office." Luna headed toward the back of the room. "He's not here today. He's up in Nairn. There've been reports of tillafilps in that area."

"I have never heard of tillafilps," Mireet said. "What are they?"

"Oh, they look like big sea shells, only they have light blue fur and produce a pinkish smoke that make people want to dance."

Mireet stopped, a perplexed look on her face.

"You had to ask," O'Bannon said under his breath.

They followed Luna into Xenophilius Lovegood's office. Pieces of parchment and old issues of _The Quibbler _were piled everywhere. Quills of various colors lay across a desk covered with various knick-knacks, some of which turned different colors, belched smoke, or produced a musical clucking.

Luna used her wand to conjure chairs for him and Mireet. She then planted herself on a tall stack of _Quibblers._

"Um . . . say, Luna. That guy out there. What's his deal?"

"Oh. That's Iapetus Huebolton. He used to work for _The Daily Prophet_ up until five years ago. He wanted to write an article that defended Harry Potter when he said Voldemort had returned. Minister Fudge pressured _The Prophet _into firing him. Then when Voldemort took over, he was sent to Azkaban for speaking out against the regime."

O'Bannon frowned, staring out the glass partitions of the office. Huebolton sat at his desk, writing something. He gave O'Bannon a suspicious glance over his shoulder, then went back to work.

He couldn't help but feel sympathy for Huebolton. After all he went though, how could he not be paranoid?

"So . . ." Luna leaned forward, her eyes somehow growing larger. "Why have you come to see me?"

O'Bannon cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. "Well, actually I'm here to see a lot of people, to apologize for what I did."

"What is it you need to apologize for?"

"For leaving the Wizarding World. For turning my back on everyone."

Luna just stared at him impassively. She blinked once, slowly, then said, "Why would you think I'd be upset with you returning to the Muggle World?"

O'Bannon's face scrunched in disbelief. "Luna, I ran out on you guys. Everyone here went through a hell of a lot more than I did back in the US. I left, you didn't."

"I understand that. But I still don't see why I should be upset with you."

An exasperated hack burst from his throat. "How could you not? How many months did you spend at Hogwarts under the Carrows? How long were you imprisoned at Malfoy Manor? While that was happening to you, I was hiding in the Appalachians. I didn't have Death Eaters torturing me or locking me up in a basement. But who left because dealing with everything that happened during the war was too hard? Not you. Not Dean. Not the Weasleys or Harry or Seamus or Lee or even Neville Longbottom. It was me."

"I'm sure everyone dealt with the war in different ways. Dean and I talk about the nightmares we have. It's helped us a lot, Dean especially. It's also brought us closer together." A smile traced her lips. "Being in love has helped make things better. Such a nice feeling. It does help counter all the bad feelings we experienced during the war."

O'Bannon let out a long breath through his lips. "Luna, almost everyone else I've apologized to has been pissed off at me, or at the very least disappointed in me. Considering what I did, I don't blame them. How come you're not mad at me?"

"Do you want me to be mad at you?"

"No. I guess not. Heck, I don't know." He sighed. Was Luna even capable of being mad?

She quietly observed him for several seconds. "I'm not sure why you think your experience in America was better than what we endured here in Britain. You had to evade Death Eaters for almost a year. Many people you cared about, both here and in your country, were killed. You suffered just as much as any of us here."

"Somehow I doubt that," O'Bannon scoffed. "I didn't have to spend every day in class getting beaten or Crucioed by the Carrows if I gave those bastards an answer they didn't like."

"Then would being with us at Hogwarts during that time have made you feel better?"

He opened his mouth, but emitted no words.

"I think Luna is right," Mireet said.

He turned to his girlfriend, mouth still agape.

"Sometimes," Mireet continued, "I have this feeling that you do wish you had been with our friends at Hogwarts during Voldemort's reign."

O'Bannon lowered his head. He pushed himself out of his seat and turned his back on both women. Arms akimbo, he drew a couple deep breaths before facing them again.

"Sometimes I do think that."

"Why would you think such a thing?" asked Luna.

"Because I was tight with a lot of people at Hogwarts. All the stuff we went through on the Triad, trying to shut down the Longathian Tunnel, stopping those mutant Chupacabra. We were a team. Teammates stick together, especially when times are tough. To be somewhere else when you guys were suffering . . . I don't know, it just didn't feel right."

"But what difference would it have made if you had been at Hogwarts?" Luna cocked her head. "How would that have helped any of us? I firmly believe we were all where we needed to be during the war. Harry, Ron and Hermione were searching for the Horcruxes, Neville was leading the DA, Ginny's brothers were broadcasting _Potterwatch,_ and you and your friends were in America protecting children from Death Eaters. Even if you were here during the war, you would have been too old to go to Hogwarts. Plus you were a Muggle-born, which means you would have had to go into hiding like Dean and the Creeveys and Justin Finch-Fletchley did. So really, your guilt is rather illogical."

O'Bannon sighed, his gaze falling to the floor. Luna had given voice to thoughts that had been in the back of his mind for nearly three years. But to admit that to himself would seem like a betrayal to his friends in England.

_Would it really? I may not have been with those guys at Hogwarts, but I also wasn't cowering in some cave waiting for the war to end._

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess you're right." He walked back to his chair and plopped down. "The problem is, not everyone is as reasonable as you are. Heck, just yesterday I tried to apologize to Angelina Johnson, and she wound up punching me."

"Did you say something to offend her?"

"No. I just started to say I was sorry, and the next thing I know I've got blood coming out of my mouth."

Luna turned her head away from him, staring at the wall. O'Bannon watched her, expecting her to say something. Any minute now . . . any minute.

But Luna kept staring at the wall. She even hummed some unrecognizable tune. He wondered if she'd zoned out, forgetting what they'd just been talking about. This was Luna Lovegood, after all.

He started to open his mouth when Luna turned back to him. "You didn't say anything else to Angelina, did you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean did you try to engage her in some light banter? Some people do that before they talk about something very important."

"Well, to be honest, I don't see how you can go from, 'Hey, how's the weather?', to, 'By the way, I'm sorry I turned my back on you and everyone else in the Wizarding World.'"

"Such a straight-forward approach does not work with everyone," Luna said. "Some people would rather be put at ease before having to talk about something important. Perhaps your future meetings would be less . . . emotional if you did this."

"Well how am I supposed to do that if people's first reaction to seeing me is to yell at me or deck me?"

"I can do it."

Brow furrowed, O'Bannon turned to Mireet. Her face had turned into a mask of determination.

"Thanks, hon," he said. "But this is my mess. I need to fix it."

"And I can help. I can talk to George and Ginny and the others before you do. I do not think they have any reason to be mad at me. I can prepare them for meeting you, instead of you showing up at their doorstep and apologizing."

"So you would be like an emissary," Luna stated. "That could work. You do seem like a very nice person, Mireet. I don't think anyone would yell at you on first sight."

"_Merci." _She smiled at Luna.

"I also like your accent. Perhaps you can teach me to talk like that some day."

Mireet blinked. She turned to O'Bannon, as if seeking advice. Not that he had any idea how to respond to something like that.

"Um . . ." Mireet chewed on her lower lip. "An accent is not something you can teach. It just . . . is."

"Oh. What a shame. Then perhaps I should spend some time in France. Maybe that will help."

Mireet's mouth hung open for a few seconds. "You can try, I suppose."

Luna smiled and stared at the ceiling for several seconds. She then looked back at Mireet. "I think it is a good idea for you to be Jimmy's emissary. Don't you agree, Jimmy?"

"I guess. But I'm the one who needs to apologize to these people, so I think I should -"

"Jimmy, please," Mireet interrupted him, though her tone remained even. "At least let us try this approach and see if it works."

She stared at him, her eyes pleading with him.

"Yeah, okay," he muttered.

Mireet smiled, then reached over and squeezed his hand.

After taking a breath, he turned to Luna. "Thanks for you help, Luna. I really appreciate it."

"You're quite welcome. Oh, and you will be coming by to see Dean one day, won't you?"

"Yeah, I'd like to. If Dean'll want to see me."

"I'm sure he will. If you want, I can talk to him and see if he is receptive to seeing you." Luna's eyes widened for a moment. "Oh, Mireet. I'm sorry. I don't mean to overstep my bounds. You are going to be Jimmy's emissary, after all. Perhaps you should talk to Dean."

"That is all right, Luna." Mireet gave her a warm smile. "I think you are the best choice to talk to Dean. He is your boyfriend."

"That is true. Though come the Third of August, he won't be my boyfriend anymore."

A perplexed look came over O'Bannon's face. "What?"

"Well, that's the day we're going to get married."

"Married!?" His eyes bulged.

"Yes. So he'll be my husband instead of my boyfriend."

He just gaped at Luna. Dean and Luna? Getting married? Just the concept of Luna marrying anyone was hard enough to imagine. And Dean? Yeah, he knew they'd been together since shortly after the war ended. But Dean was just . . . well, he couldn't think of what he might have in common with Luna.

_Who the heck has anything in common with Luna?_

"Congratulations, Luna." Mireet smiled at her. "I hope you and Dean will be happy together."

"Um . . . uh, yeah." O'Bannon finally found his voice. "Congratulations."

"Thank you. That's very kind of you to say. If you're both still in England on the Third of August, you're more than welcome to come to our wedding. It will be at Daddy's house at 11 o'clock in the morning."

O'Bannon just nodded. He couldn't even picture what a wedding like that would look like.

"If we are still here, we would be happy to come," Mireet said. "Right, Jimmy?"

"Um . . . yeah. Yeah, sure. Thanks for the invite."

They said their good-byes to Luna and headed toward the stairs, with Huebolton again casting a final, suspicious gaze at them. Once outside, O'Bannon took Mireet's hand and they walked along the street.

"So you up for this?" he asked. "I mean, doing this whole . . . emissary thing."

"Of course I am."

"Mm." A frowned slowly formed on his face.

"Is something wrong, Jimmy?"

"Nah, I fine."

"I do not think so." Mireet halted, forcing him to stop. He let go of her hand, his lips twisting in annoyance.

"Jimmy, what is wrong?"

He groaned. "It's just . . . look, no offense, but I just don't like the idea of other people fighting my battles for me."

"I am not fighting your battles. I am just helping you. There is a difference."

He frowned again, unconvinced.

"Jimmy." She rested both her hands on his shoulders. "Remember when we were with the Triad? You told us how important it is to work together as a team. Well we are a team, are we not?"

"Yeah. I guess, in a way, we are."

"Then let us work together as a team. You wanted me to come here to help you. Let me help."

O'Bannon took a couple of steady breaths. He then placed his hands on Mireet's waist. "Yeah. You're right. Sorry."

She gave him a warm smile. "You do not have to apologize." She slid her hands around the back of his neck, leaned in and kissed him.

O'Bannon hugged her, resting his cheek against her hair. He was so glad Mireet was here with him, so grateful for everything she had done for him, all she was going to do for him.

Deep down, though, he knew that no matter how good a job Mireet did softening up his British friends, success or failure would ultimately come down to him and him alone.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	14. Badgers and Lions

**CHAPTER 14: BADGERS AND LIONS**

* * *

Mireet's heart pounded with nervous energy as she approached _The Waving Wand_ pub. She tried to push down her anxiety. Her first meeting as Jimmy's "emissary" was with Susan Bones, a Hufflepuff who'd been the back-up goaltender for the Triad. Susan had been one of the most even-tempered, soft-spoken people she ever met. It shouldn't be too hard to convince her to meet with Jimmy.

_Then why am I so nervous?_

She chalked it up to one of Jimmy's favorite sports expressions, butterflies in the stomach.

"You usually get them before some big event," he had told her. "I had 'em big time before my first game with the Komets."

Mireet took a breath, trying to calm her thumping heart, trying to untwist the knots in her stomach. Jimmy had suggested she meet with the Hufflepuffs first, figuring members of a house that valued tolerance and fair play would be easier to deal with than members of other Hogwarts houses – specifically, Gryffindor. He also felt she should build up some momentum before meeting with George and Lee and Harry and their other Gryffindor friends. She agreed. Those meetings would likely be the most difficult for them.

She paused by the pub's oak door and drew a breath.

_You can do this._

After another breath, she pushed open the door.

_The Waving Wand _was the exact opposite of _The Leaky Cauldron. _Whereas the latter looked rather dingy, _The Waving Wand_ was brightly lit by two huge skylights, the glass giving off spectacular, diamond-shaped sparkles. The circular wooden tables had white clothes covering them. Several moving portraits adorned the walls.

She scanned the crowded dining area, looking for Susan. No sign of her. Perhaps she had missed her. Or perhaps she had not yet –

A short, plain-looking young woman with long auburn hair waved to her from a table in the corner. Mireet smiled and made her way toward her.

"Susan. It is good to see you again."

"You, too." Susan Bones got up and gave her a hug.

"So how are you doing?" Mireet asked as they sat down.

"I'm well. You?"

"I am well, too." Mireet's eyes lingered for a second on Susan's right hand. Where the ring finger and pinky should be was a gnarled stump, an eternal reminder for the Hufflepuff of the Battle of Hogwarts.

"So what brings you to Britain?" Susan asked.

"I have taken a leave of absence for the summer from the embassy. I have not spent much time in Europe over the past few years. I thought it would give me a good chance to visit my friends, and my family."

"Have you seen your family yet?"

"No, but I will soon. I sent them an owl yesterday letting them know I am in England."

"That nice." Susan's gaze dropped to the table. The smile disappeared from her face.

Sympathy poured from Mireet's heart. She knew most of Susan's family had been murdered by Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Between that and her disfigurement, Mireet wondered if convincing Susan to meet Jimmy and accept his apology might be harder than she anticipated.

"So what are you doing now?" she asked Susan, hoping a change of subject would improve her mood.

"Well, I was transferred out of the Trace Office a few months ago. I'm working for the Department of Magical Catastrophes now."

"That sounds like an exciting job."

"Not quite. I still have a lot of training to do before I can actually go out in the field." Susan laughed softly. "Funny. You'd think after fighting at Hogwarts, reversing an Enlarging Charm gone awry would be a snap."

Susan sighed, slumping in her seat.

A young, thin witch with frizzy black hair and glasses came by to take their drink orders. When she left, Susan lifted her head, a sullen look on her face. "There are so many times I wish I could forget those last two years at Hogwarts. Auntie Amelia's murder. The Carrows." She shivered, and remained silent for a few seconds. "The battle." She glanced at her three-fingered right hand. "All those people who died."

"I can only imagine what you must have gone through here."

"Thank you. But it wasn't like you had it any easier across the pond." Susan sighed again. "Still, whenever I think too much of those . . . dark years, I try to remember some of the more enjoyable times at Hogwarts. Especially that year being on the Triad."

Mireet smiled briefly. "Those were enjoyable times."

"Quite. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine myself playing a Muggle sport. Any sport, for that matter. I'm dreadful on a broom, so Quidditch was out. It still amazes me Jimmy actually picked me for the team."

Mireet held her breath. She sensed an opening. "He picked you because of your hard work and determination. Those are among the values Hufflepuff House holds dear, are they not?"

"Yes, they are."

Two glasses floated to their table, gillywater for Susan, and a white wine for Mireet.

Susan took a sip of her gillywater, after which a reminiscing smile crossed her lips. "I'll never forget when Harkorth got hurt, and Jimmy turned to me and said, 'Bonesy, you're in net.' Merlin's beard, I was so nervous. And then in that shootout, my heart was hammering in my chest. I just prayed I didn't mess up and let the Slytherins score on us."

"You did remarkable, Susan. You stopped that last shot. We won that game because of you."

"Thank you." She smiled, then looked off to the side in thought. Several seconds passed before she turned back to Mireet. "You haven't heard from Jimmy, by chance, have you?"

Anxious tingles rippled through her. "As a matter of fact, I have."

"Really? From the way he just left Fred's memorial, and from the letter he sent me, it sounded as though he didn't want anything more to do with the Wizarding World. Ever." The corners of her mouth twisted. "I still can't believe he left like that. Jimmy always seemed so strong, so confident. I know he lost a lot of people he cared about during the war, but didn't we all? And I'm a pureblood. It's not like I have another world to go to to try and forget about my friends and family, either living or dead. Nor should we forget them."

Worry crept through Mireet. She watched Susan's face stiffen, her lips pressed together, as though trying to hold back her emotions.

"You should know, he very much regrets what he did," Mireet said, hoping to mollify any anger Susan had toward Jimmy. "That is why we have come to England."

Susan's eyes widened. "'We?' You mean Jimmy's here? In England?"

"_Oui._ He has come here to apologize to our friends for leaving the Wizarding World."

"So who has he talked to so far?"

"Terry, Michael, Anthony, Luna. He also ran into Angelina, though that encounter . . . well, it did not end well."

Susan leaned back in her chair. "I'm surprised none of them let me know you and Jimmy were in the country."

"Please don't be upset with them. We told them to not tell anyone. We wanted to meet everyone ourselves."

Susan just stared at her for a few moments before nodding.

The frizzy-haired witch returned to take their lunch orders. When she left, Susan asked, "So has all this time away from our world helped Jimmy cope with everything that happened during the war?"

"No." Mireet frowned. "If anything, it made things worse. He suffered from constant nightmares. He even became an alcoholic."

"Oh dear." Susan's hand went to her mouth.

Mireet studied the other girl's face. She clearly read the distress on Susan's soft, pale features. That and something else. Sympathy.

She had her opening.

"He would like to see you. To apologize. It was never his intention to hurt you or anyone else from Hogwarts."

Susan clenched her hands together and stared at them in silence. Mireet watched her, tension growing in her chest. She found herself leaning forward a bit, waiting for her to say something.

Drawing a long breath, Susan looked back up at her. "All right. I'll see him."

Mireet felt all the anxiety drain from her body. She smiled wide. "Thank you, Susan. I know he will appreciate this. When would you like to see him?"

Susan bobbed her head from side-to-side. "Why not tonight? He can come round my flat about six-thirty if it's no problem."

"He will be there. You have my word."

Mireet took another sip of her wine, relief flowing within her, along with elation.

She had succeeded her first time out as Jimmy's emissary.

**XXXXX**

Over the next week-and-a-half, she and Jimmy met with all the Hufflepuffs who'd played for the Triad. Thanks to Mireet's initial contacts with Susan, Ernie, Justin and Gordon, all of Jimmy's meetings with them went rather smoothly. Naturally there had been a few rough patches, but nothing the two parties couldn't resolve.

Their successful meetings with the Hufflepuffs boosted Mireet's spirits. She felt the same was true for Jimmy as well, until one night at dinner when she said to him, "After how your meetings with the Hufflepuffs went, I am starting to feel things will go just as well with our Gryffindor friends."

"Don't get overconfident, hon," he had replied.

The comment troubled her. Jimmy had always been an optimistic person. At least, he had been before the war. Had all the death and misfortune he'd seen during those years robbed him of that?

His tone of voice also caused her concern. He hadn't said it the same way he had when they played Slytherin House five years ago, as a simple warning. He almost sounded like he expected to fail. She knew Jimmy detested failure. A lump formed in her throat. How much had the war robbed of Jimmy? But the more important question was could he get back what the war had taken away?

It was also around this time that they decided they had taken advantage of Terry's hospitality long enough. When they informed him of their intention to find an inn to stay at, he'd told them, "Nonsense. You're welcome to stay here as long as you need."

While they appreciated his kindness, neither she nor Jimmy felt right about having three people living for an indeterminate amount of time in a flat barely big enough for one person. They Apparated to Diagon Alley and came across McAuliffe's Marvelous Inn, located across the street from Quality Quidditch Supplies. The place, however, appeared more modest than marvelous. But given their budget, modest was pretty much all they could afford.

As they proceeded to their room, Mireet noticed the hallway was lit by just a few floating candles, and the dark brown walls had not a single portrait, or any other sort of decoration.

_Would it be such a task for the innkeeper to spend a few Galleons to provide some ambiance?_

When she mentioned this to Jimmy, his response was, "So long as they've got a bed and a bathroom, that's all that matters."

Mireet groaned to herself. _Spoken like a true man._

When they entered their room, they both noted that it did have a bed. _One _bed. The innkeeper must have assumed they were married. She should have remembered to request a room with two beds.

_Is this really such a bad development?_

Jimmy turned to her, the veins in his neck sticking out. "Um, well . . . you know, I could always sleep on the couch."

She couldn't help but smile. Jimmy had always been a gentleman at heart. It was one of the many qualities she loved about him.

She stepped over to him and traced a finger up and down his biceps. "We are both adults. I think we can share a bed."

Mireet felt him stiffen. His eyes bulged. "Um . . . sure. I'm down with that. I mean, I just thought . . . well, if you're ready to . . ."

She bit her lip, and placed a hand on his chest. His heart pounded away. She knew what he wanted. Merlin's beard, she wanted it, too. More than anything. But . . .

"Jimmy . . ." Anxiety filled her. Her mind churned as she tried to choose her words carefully. "I would like nothing more than to make love to you. Please believe that. But I know you are worried about meeting George and Katie and Lee and the others. I know how it is affecting your mood. I am worried that if we do make love, you will see it as a way to take your mind off these problems."

"No, that isn't true."

"Are you certain?"

He opened his mouth, but did not speak.

Mireet stepped closer to him, their faces inches apart. "I love you, Jimmy, and I want our first time to be special. I do not want you, _us_, to be distracted by worries about whether you can reconcile with the rest of our friends. I want all your focus to be on me, on us. Please tell me you understand."

He chewed on his lower lip. She had no trouble seeing the disappointment on his face. It mirrored what she felt. But she was determined to wait until the time was right. She just prayed Jimmy could accept that.

A smile slowly formed on his face. He placed his hands on her waist. "If that's what you want, then okay. Besides, you're worth the wait."

Tingles raced through her body. Her heart skipped a beat as she stared into Jimmy's round, handsome face, a face that showed nothing but sincerity.

Mireet kissed him and hugged him. _"Merci. _You are so wonderful."

"Thanks."

She closed her eyes, relishing the feel of Jimmy's arms around her.

**XXXXX**

After they unpacked, they went out for dinner, then took an evening stroll around Diagon Alley. Upon returning to the inn, they listened to the Wizarding Wireless, which had a program on the upcoming Quidditch World Cup in Bulgaria. That was followed by a program featuring an interview with the wizarding rock band the Weird Sisters. Mireet chuckled when she saw Jimmy pump his fist when drummer Orsino Thurston said he drew a lot of inspiration from John Bonham, the drummer of his Muggle-born father's, and one of Jimmy's, favorite Muggle bands, Led Zeppelin.

"Dude's got good taste," Jimmy smiled.

Once the program was over they got ready for bed. Mireet stood in front of the mirror, slowly brushing her long blond hair. She thought ahead to tomorrow, when they would begin their meetings with the Gryffindors.

And ultimately, that would mean dealing with George Weasley.

She stopped brushing her hair and just stared at her reflection. She knew Jimmy's plan all along had been to reconcile with George first before seeing Lee, the Gryffindor Chaser girls, and Harry and the Weasleys. His logic had been the other Gryffindors would be more willing to forgive him if George forgave him first.

But ever since their meeting with Luna, she started to question that logic. Usually it came back to her conversation with Jimmy outside _The Quibbler _building, where they talked about being a team.

Mireet exited the bathroom. She paused just outside the doorway, the breath stuck in her throat.

Jimmy lay in the bed, reading a copy of _World of Quidditch Weekly _he picked up at Quality Quidditch Supplies.

Her heart hammered against her chest. She was going to be in that bed with Jimmy. Yes, they had fallen asleep together on his parents' couch. But this, somehow, felt different. Under the covers, nestled up against his body, his lean, firm body.

A flash of heat went through her. She began to reconsider her decision to hold off making love to Jimmy.

He looked up at her and smiled. He then nodded to the magazine. "You may not want to read this. There's an article in here that slams the French National Team. Says the only chance they have in the World Cup is if every player from every other team comes down with Spattergroit."

Mireet's left cheek twitched. She drew a breath and said. "Such ridicule is to be expected when your country has not won a World Cup in one hundred forty-two years." She clenched her jaw. That fact had been a wound to French national pride for much too long.

"Well at least France has won World Cups. America's only made it to the championship match once, and we got our asses beat by Germany.

She shot him a grin and walked toward the bed, her entire body tingling. She slid her feet out of her slippers, lifted the blankets, and got into bed. Jimmy shuffled over to her and wrapped her in his arms. She moaned contentedly as she rested her cheek on his chest.

"Well this is nice," he said.

"_Oui,"_ she said breathlessly.

They laid together like that, quietly, for several minutes.

"So you ready for what's coming up next?" Jimmy asked as he gently stroked her hair.

"You mean with the Gryffindors? _Oui."_

Jimmy exhaled slowly through his nose. "It's not gonna be easy, considering what happened the last time I saw George. I know after what happened with Darius back in the US, you said some people might never forgive me. But . . . Fred and George were my best friends over here. I don't like the idea of George being mad at me forever."

"I know. That is why we may need a team to convince him to forgive you."

"What do you mean?"

Mireet folded her arms on his chest and rested her chin on the back of her wrist, staring at Jimmy's face. "I know you wanted to reconcile with George before the other Gryffindors, but since Fred was his brother, his twin, he could be the hardest to reach. You may want to consider seeing our other Gryffindor friends first before seeing George."

"Somehow I doubt they're gonna forgive me if George hasn't."

"George may not forgive you if they haven't. If we can resolve matters with the others, they may help us resolve matters with George. You have often said it yourself, how important teamwork is."

Jimmy chewed on his lip and tilted his head in thought. Several seconds passed before he finally spoke. "You make a good point. Maybe it will be easier to deal with George with some numbers on our side . . . I hope."

Mireet frowned. There it was again. That sense of doubt that would have been so out of place five years ago.

Before she could address it, he asked, "So who do you think we should see first?"

"Lee Jordan."

"You sure? He was pretty tight with Fred and George. He may be just as hard to reach as George."

"I do not think so. Lee is very good-natured. I cannot remember him ever being angry at anything when I was at Hogwarts."

"Yeah, me neither. Though he did get pretty agitated whenever he talked about Slytherin House. Then again, so did everyone in Gryffindor."

She smiled. She took it as a good sign that Jimmy could make a joke, even a small one. His sense of humor had been another trait of his ruined by the war.

"All right, then." He gently patted her back. "Lee's the first one on our Gryffindor list."

He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. "Thanks."

"You are welcome. Now let's go to sleep."

Mireet gave him a long kiss before rolling over and picking up her wand from the nightstand. With a quick wave she put out all the candles in their room, plunging it into darkness. She laid her wand on the nightstand and rolled onto her back.

Jimmy's face suddenly appeared over hers.

"Jimmy, wha -"

She never finished the sentence as his lips covered hers. The kiss was long and deep and sent her heart racing.

She had to draw a long breath once their lips separated. Jimmy looked down at her, smiling, his thumb and index finger rubbing a strand of her hair.

"I know you want to wait before having sex, but I figured you wouldn't be opposed to some old-fashioned snogging."

A smile spread across Mireet's face. She was most definitely not opposed to some snogging.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	15. Jogging The Memory

**CHAPTER 15: JOGGING THE MEMORY**

* * *

The smile came and went on Mireet's face when she saw Lee Jordan sitting at a table in the middle of The Leaky Cauldron. She was, of course, happy to see her friend, the young man who did the commentary for the Triad/Slytherin hockey game. But concern bubbled inside her when she noticed his expression. Lee just stared at the table, shoulders slumped, unsmiling. Such a contrast from the jovial boy she knew at Hogwarts.

"Lee," she called out as she approached the table.

He looked up. A smile formed on his lips, a rather forced one at that.

"Hey, Mireet." He stood, and she hugged him and kissed both his cheeks.

"It is good to see you again." She sat down.

"Yeah, you too," he muttered, dropping back in his seat. His eyes refused to make contact with hers.

Her chest tightened with worry. Could Lee still be mourning Fred's death? Most likely. Fred and George had been like brothers to him.

"So . . . how are you?" She hesitated asking the question.

"All right." His tone indicated he was anything but. "You?"

"I am well, thank you. I still enjoy working at the embassy in America, but I felt it was time to come back to Europe and see my family in France, and my friends here in Britain."

"Mm." Lee nodded, his face tightening.

Mireet clasped her hands together and rested them on the table. "How is everything with your job?"

"Fine. I like covering Quidditch for Wizarding Wireless Network News. My bosses are even talk about sending me over to Bulgaria in August to cover the World Cup."

"That is wonderful."

"Yeah, it is." Lee smiled, but only for a moment.

Now Mireet knew something was seriously wrong. The Lee Jordan she knew at Hogwarts would have been jumping about yelling with delight at the thought of going to the Quidditch World Cup. There could be only one reason why he would act this way.

"You still miss Fred, don't you?"

Lee's head snapped up, his eyes locked on her.

The same thin, wizened witch who worked here the day Angelina punched Jimmy took their drink orders and left, though not before giving Mireet a suspicious gaze. Clearly the witch remembered her from that day. Once she was out of earshot, Lee turned back to Mireet. A crest-fallen look fell over his face.

"It's been two years, and I still think about it every day." His jaw tightened for a moment. "You know I'm an only child, right?"

"_Oui."_

"I didn't have many friends growing up. My parents always tried to get me to play with some of my cousins, but they were all older than me and didn't appreciate having me foisted on them. They'd be up there having pick-up games of Quidditch on real brooms while I had to hover a couple feet off the ground on a toy broom. The few times when one of my cousins let me ride with them on their broom, I could hardly ever catch the Quaffle, never mind throwing it. They'd just laugh and take the mickey out of me."

Mireet frowned, sympathy for her friend filling her soul, along with anger toward Lee's insensitive cousins.

"There was this one day," Lee continued. "I was eight or so, and my parents and I were in Diagon Alley. We happened to walk past Gambol and Japes, the old joke shop. All the sudden, I had this brilliant idea. If I got some of those joke products, I could make my cousins laugh, then they'd like me. So I got gag wands and Tickling Quills and Insulting Crystal Balls. But whenever I used them around my cousins, they'd always say those were things babies played with. I kept trying, hoping to get them to laugh at me, but it never happened."

"I'm so sorry, Lee. I never knew your childhood was so unhappy."

He grunted in response before speaking again. "Everything changed my first day on the Hogwarts Express. That's when I met Fred and George. I started talking to them about how much I liked joke products and, well, we hit it off right there and then. They were the best friends I could ever ask for. I think if it weren't for them, I never would have found the nerve to announce the Quidditch matches, or put those nifflers in Umbridge's office, or help them start _Potterwatch_." He took a slow breath, his face stiffening. "And then just like that, Fred's gone."

Both of them ignored their drinks as they floated onto the table. Lee slouched further down in his chair. "I still can't stand even looking at Percy. Every time I see that . . . every time I see him, I just want to hex the bloody hell out of him. Or beat him to a pulp. Or both. Maybe it's wrong to think that way, but after he just turned his back on his family so he could be a good little Ministry arse kisser, and then he comes back to fight at Hogwarts, and . . . he was right there with Fred. Why the hell couldn't he save him, his own brother?" His face twisted in a scowl. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive Percy."

Nervous ripples went through Mireet's stomach. She wondered if Lee felt the same way about Jimmy he did about Percy.

She drew a hesitant breath. "I'm . . . I'm sure Percy did everything he could."

Lee just stared at her in silence, his chest slowly rising and falling with each breath. "You're into defending people who probably don't deserve it, aren't you?"

A puzzled look came over her face. "I'm sorry?"

"Don't play innocent, Mireet." An edge crept into Lee's voice. "I know you're in England with Jimmy. Angelina owled me last week about her run-in with him."

Mireet intertwined her fingers and squeezed them tight. She resisted the temptation to avert her gaze from Lee's angry eyes. "Yes, it's true. He has come here to apologize to all of you."

"Then where is he? He standing next to me with an Invisibility Cloak draped over him? Or is he too much of a coward to show up here and apologize himself?"

"Jimmy is not a coward." Her muscles tensed. She tried to push down her anger at Lee's comment. "We both felt it might be best for me to see our friends first before he did. I am acting as a sort of emissary."

Lee snorted. "Well if that term makes you feel better, then by all means, use it."

"Lee, Jimmy is genuinely sorry he left the Wizarding World and tried to forget all of us. The war, and everything that happened to him, it became hard for him to deal with."

"'Hard for him to deal with'?" Lee's eyes narrowed. "I didn't see Jimmy having to drag George out of this place after he got pissed out of his mind. Did Jimmy have to see one of his best mates lying on the couch of his flat crying himself to sleep, calling out Fred's name? No! It was me. I did that more nights than I can count. But what did Jimmy do? Where was he for all this? He just trotted off to the Muggle World to play hockey, because that's easier than trying to help a friend get through the worst time of his life."

"But Jimmy was over in America. What could he -"

"He could have tried to visit once in a while." A few wizards and witches sitting at nearby tables turned their heads. Lee ignored them and continued. "Or a Floo Call or an owl. Something to let George know he actually gave a damn about him. But no. He'd rather play some stupid Muggle game and pretend like the rest of us don't exist."

"He did not forget about any of you. Please, Lee, at least try to forgive him. He knows he made a mistake."

"Bloody right he made a mistake." Lee shoved back his chair and stood. He reached into his robes and chucked some sickles onto the table for his drink. He stormed past the table and headed for the rear of The Leaky Cauldron, and the entrance to Diagon Alley.

"Lee. Lee, wait." Mireet shot to her feet. By now nearly every pair of eyes in the pub were on either her or Lee.

"What for?" He spun around, flinging out his arms. "Do you honestly think anything you have to say will make me forgive Jimmy?"

Mireet felt anger lines dig into her face. "Did you already have your mind made up before you came here that you would not forgive him?"

Lee scowled, his shoulders rising and falling in sharp breaths.

She matched his scowl. "If that is so, why did you even bother to come here and speak with me?"

"I don't know. Curious, I suppose. Maybe I wanted to hear for myself what you had to say to excuse what he did." He shook his head. "Honestly, I can't understand why you're not hacked off at him. You probably have more reason than any of us, considering how you felt about Jimmy. And he just left you. You would have done better to find yourself another guy and let him stay in the Muggle World."

"And let him drink himself to death like my Uncle Theophile did? Because that is what might have happened had Jimmy stayed in the Muggle World. Is that what you would have wanted?"

Lee just stared at her, jaw clenched. His gaze fell to the floor. Mireet watched Lee's scowl lessen. A flicker of hope grew inside her.

He looked back up at her. "Bye, Mireet."

Lee spun on his heel and headed toward the back.

She almost called out for him, but stopped herself. That's when she felt the eyes on her, and the silence around her. She slowly rotated her head. Dozens of wizards and witches stared at her. The barkeep stood behind the bar, hands on his hips, an annoyed look on his face.

Mireet wanted to slink away and hide, the weight of embarrassment threatening to crush her. Merlin's beard, how could she have done this? What should have been a private conversation between her and Lee Jordan had inadvertently grown to include the entire pub. She scolded herself. How could she let her emotions get the best of her like that? Yes, Lee and angered her with some of his comments. Still she should have known better than to create such a spectacle in front of these people.

She drew a deep breath, stared straight ahead and proceeded through the pub, winding her way past the tables, doing her best to ignore everyone's stares. She just stepped into the small, walled courtyard behind the pub. A hefty, female figure slipped through a hole in the wall and vanished. Mireet stopped for a second, thinking she recognized the witch. As the hole leading to Diagon Alley closed back up, she shook her head and forgot about it. One thought, one disheartening thought, dominated her mind.

The thought that she had failed the man she loved.

**XXXXX**

Rotten Row.

Jimmy O'Bannon couldn't helped but be amused by the name. Rotten Row sounded like the perfect name for some unsavory place in the Wizarding World, right up there with the Hog's Head.

Instead, Rotten Row was located in one of the most famous Muggle parks in the world, London's Hyde Park. And O'Bannon didn't find anything rotten about it. The Row was actually a path covered by light brown sand bordered by lush trees. Despite the tranquil setting, not another soul used this path. That made it an ideal place for him to jog. Right now he'd rather be alone with his thoughts.

Legs pumping, breaths shooting out his mouth, he reflected on the last few days. They had been some of the most difficult since coming to England. Mireet took it rather personally that she couldn't convince Lee to meet with him. Her mood worsened when Alicia Spinnet, Katie Bell and Seamus Finnigan ignored the owls she had sent them asking for a meeting. Dean Thomas had responded, saying he would, "think about it." O'Bannon prayed Luna could convince her boyfriend to see him. While she may be weird, Luna had a way of dishing out advice that made it hard for one to say no.

_Maybe I should send Luna around to talk to the Gryffindors._

He groaned at the thought. It was enough he had Mireet acting as his emissary. He didn't need another witch trying to clean up the mess he made.

O'Bannon stopped, taking lungfuls of air, his Boston Red Sox T-shirt drenched in sweat. Hands on his hips, he stared down at the sand around his feet.

_Damn, did I make a mess of things._

He snorted, anger building inside him. Anger at himself. How could he have not taken the feelings of his friends into consideration? Did he really believe they'd all be cool that he wanted to leave the Wizarding World so he wouldn't have to deal with all the crap that happened during the war? Did he forget that many of his friends went through much, much worse than him?

He knew those questions never entered his mind at the time. It had all been about him. He couldn't believe he'd been that selfish, that stupid. And it cost him some of the best friends he'd ever had.

A _clop-clop-clop_ caught his attention. He looked up and saw two horses ridden by men in green and brown camouflage uniforms trotting toward him. The two guys had to be soldiers. Why they'd be on horseback he didn't know. He doubted any military on the planet had used cavalry since World War One.

_Maybe they're with some ceremonial unit. Probably out here letting the horses stretch their legs._

He stepped aside and let the horses and riders go by. One of the soldiers nodded to him. "Afternoon."

"Hey." O'Bannon nodded back.

Once the horses and soldiers passed him, he continued his jog. Ten minutes later he turned off the sandy path and stopped by a bench. A few yards away was a playground with several children running around or kicking a soccer ball or playing on swings and sliding boards. He unslung the knapsack from his back, pulled out a bottled water and took a swig. Wiping his sweaty brow, he scanned the playground, taking in the smiling faces of the children as they enjoyed themselves.

An image formed in his mind. He and Mireet, sitting in a park like this years from now, watching their own child playing.

_Bobby Orr O'Bannon, or maybe Nomar Garciaparra O'Bannon._

He chuckled to himself. That chuckle quickly faded, replaced by a more somber look. Merlin's beard, did he really have it in him to be a father? He thought back over the past year, and how much he'd screwed up his life. How could he even think of trying to take care of another human being? And even if he and Mireet did have Bobby Orr O'Bannon, what would happen if his son started looking at photographs from his father's year at Hogwarts?

"_Dad, who are those people?"_

"_Oh, that's Fred and George Weasley, and Angelina Johnson, and Lee Jordan, and Katie Bell. They were some of my best friends in Britain."_

"_Can I meet them sometime, Dad?"_

"_Oh no, son. You see, Fred died, and I was so messed up after the war that I left the Wizarding World so I wouldn't have to deal with it. And because I was so selfish and stupid, all those people hate me now."_

O'Bannon sneered. _Yeah. Some role model I'll be._

He took another swig from his water bottle.

"Choo-choo!"

His gaze shifted to a small, brown-haired child kneeling beside a concrete walkway. He couldn't have been more than five, and was rolling a plastic toy train in front of him.

"Choo-choo!"

O'Bannon's eyes locked on the toy train. He took a breath, his mind flashing back to five years ago.

**XXXXX**

* * *

_Location: Hogsmeade Village, Scotland_

_Time Frame: The end of "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire"_

* * *

O'Bannon gazed out the window as The Hogwarts Express pulled out of the station. Beyond the wooden buildings of Hogsmeade and the forest surrounding it, he could still see the spires of Hogwarts castle reaching toward the sky.

_Man, this is really it._ He was actually leaving Hogwarts. Part of him felt guilty. He should be looking more forward to returning to Boston, to the Salem Witches Institute, to seeing his family again, along with Jared and Rosa and Artimus.

But he couldn't help feel disappointed he wouldn't be coming back to this school. He'd made so many great friends here. Hell, he felt closer to some of the Brits than he did many other students back at Salem. Now he'd have to leave them behind forever. Fred, George, Lee, Angelina, Katie, Michael, Seamus, Ernie, Ginny.

Mireet.

He sighed and lowered his head. A hole opened under his heart and swallowed it. All he could think of was what might have been with the beautiful French witch.

"Yup, take a good look at it, Jimmy Boy. No more Hogwarts for you. It's back to the boredom that is the Salem Witches Institute."

He turned away from the window and looked at a grinning Fred Weasley, sitting across from him in the compartment.

"Now, Fred." George gave his twin a faux scolding look. "Why do you think we gave Jimmy here the gift we did? To liven things up when he gets back to Salem."

O'Bannon chuckled as he thought about the going away present Fred, George and Lee had given him, a book titled _Theroit's 333 Magical Pranks._ He leaned back in his seat, a smile slowly spreading across his face.

"Thanks, guys." His eyes swept over the twins and Lee Jordan, who sat next to him.

"Oh, think nothing of it." George gave him a dismissive wave. "Just be sure to put that book to good use."

"I'm not just talking about the book. I mean thanks for being my friends. The way the school year started off for me, I didn't think anyone would be disappointed to see me go back to the US."

"That's because it took a while for everyone to see what a cool guy you are," Fred said.

"Well it wouldn't have happened if you guys weren't interested in having me show you how to play hockey. I owe you big time for that."

"Well we owe you, too, Jimmy," Lee said. "We're all part of history because of you. The first Muggle game to be played at Hogwarts. You three played in it, I announced it. Bloody hell, we'll probably have our own section in the next edition of _Hogwarts: A History."_

"Imagine that." Fred folded his arms and leaned back, a wondrous look in his eyes. "The four of us, part of Hogwarts history . . . for something other than an incredibly outstanding prank."

"Mum'll be so proud." George's expression mirrored Fred's. "And here she thought we'd never amount to anything."

"Too true, George." Fred nodded.

"And we've got you to thank for it, Jimmy Boy." George smiled at him.

"Aw, c'mon. We all had a part to play in this."

"Maybe," George said. "But who was it who thought about forming a hockey club? Who was it who actually went through with challenging Malfoy and the rest of those Slytherin gits to a match? Who was it led us?"

"Gosh, George, could it be some Yank exchange student who goes around saying things like _Haag-waats_ and _waah-dah _and _wicked pissah?"_ Fred did a horrible impersonation of O'Bannon's Boston accent.

O'Bannon responded with a sarcastic, "Ha-ha," and a middle finger.

"Why yes, Fred, it would be him." George's gaze shifted to O'Bannon. "Mate, it was a blow to us and a lot of others not to have Quidditch this year because of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. You gave us something to do while Harry and the other champions tackled dragons and mermaids and such. We made friends with people we didn't know that well, or didn't know at all. This year wouldn't have been the same without you."

Both Fred and Lee nodded at that.

"Back at you, man." O'Bannon leaned forward and slapped hands with George.

**XXXXX**

O'Bannon drew slow, steady breaths as he continued to stare out at the playground before him. The frolicking children and their squeals of delight faded into the background. Fred and George dominated his mind. How many other wizards and witches at Hogwarts would have stepped forward to extend a hand of friendship to him at that time? That day on the pond changed everything for him. He'd made good friends, met a witch who would eventually become his girlfriend. How different would his life have been if he never met Fred and George Weasley?

Now the surviving twin whom he'd considered a best friend hated him. After everything they'd been through, George hated him. And if the reactions of the other Gryffindors were any indication, George would go on hating him forever.

O'Bannon could not accept that.

He chugged his water, grabbed his knapsack, and stomped back toward Rotten Row. Once he found a deserted spot, he Apparated back to Diagon Alley. He headed into McAuliffe's Marvelous Inn and took the stairs to his floor. As he walked down the hallway, movement on the floor caught his eye. He glanced down and spotted a little black bug skittering across the wooden floorboards. O'Bannon's face scrunched up.

_Maybe we should look for a new inn._

Unfortunately, the only place where he and Mireet would likely find a cheaper inn was Knockturn Alley. From the way his British friends spoke of it, it was a place one should do everything possible to avoid, even in peacetime.

When he entered the room, he saw Mireet sitting at the table, writing on a piece of parchment.

"Hey, hon." He walked over and kissed her on the cheek. "What are you doing?"

"Writing a letter to my parents. Ah! Watch it. You're dripping on my letter."

"Sorry." He backed away from Mireet, noticing a couple drops of sweat from his forehead staining the parchment.

"I think you should take a shower." Mireet waved her wand over the parchment, ridding it of the sweat stains.

"Yeah, I know. Um, in a minute. There's, um, there's something I want to talk to you about."

"What is it?" She twisted around in her chair.

O'Bannon chewed on his lip. "It's, um . . . it's about George. I know we wanted to patch things up with Lee and Katie and the rest before we went to see him, but . . . I have a feeling that's not gonna happen. They're too tight with George. If he's gonna keep hating me, so are they. So I say we just go straight for George and set things right with him."

"Are you certain about this?"

"I don't think we have a choice. And quite frankly, after everything we've been through, I don't like the idea that he may hate me for the rest of his life. I gotta do something about that."  
Mireet let out a breath and stared at the floor. Several seconds passed before she looked back up at him. "All right. When do you want me to see George?"

O'Bannon's face tightened. "Hon, if Angelina told Lee about us being in England, you can bet she already told George. When he sees you coming, he's gonna know you're there to talk on my behalf. No. No more emissary stuff. I'm gonna see George myself."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE 1: **_While I did do a bit of research on Hyde Park and what it contains, anyone reading this who happens to be from England and has visited that park, please feel free to send me comments if I did not describe something accurately, or if there might be a detail or two I can add to make the setting as authentic as possible. Thank you. Also, regarding the scene with the horses, they are from a real world unit of the British Army, the Household Cavalry Mounted Regiment, which is mainly used for parades and other ceremonies. Their horses are stabled at Hyde Park._

**AUTHOR'S NOTE 2: **_Looking at my reader traffic, I noticed there seems to be a nice following in Israel for this story. So I'd like to give a special shout out to my Israeli readership. It's pretty cool for a guy living in Arizona to have his stuff read by people halfway around the world. Thanks for reading, same to all my other readers from around the world. _


	16. Surprise Visitors

**CHAPTER 16: SURPRISE VISITORS**

* * *

_Negative thoughts breed negative actions._

The phrase ran through Jimmy O'Bannon's head as he sat on a bench in Diagon Alley. Darcy Dunleavy, a former captain for the Blazenrowe Hall hockey team back at Salem, had said that once. You couldn't go into a game thinking, "What if I lose" or "I can't make a mistake," because chances are you would lose or screw up. Instead the proper, more positive, approach was "I will win." A person had to have complete confidence in his or herself. Anything less and they risked defeat.

O'Bannon tried to take that advice to heart as he stared at a window across from him, a window filled with all sorts of items that glowed and spun and shrieked and bounced. Above it hung a sign that read WEASLEYS' WIZARD WHEEZES.

He rubbed his sweaty palms on his robes. His stomach twisted to the point he feared he'd throw up. He couldn't remember feeling this nervous before the Triad/Slytherin hockey game or his pro debut with the Fort Wayne Komets.

_I will succeed. George will forgive me. Everything will be fine._

He tried to believe it, but the words rang hollow in his head. If Angelina and Lee couldn't stand the sight of him, why should George be any different? Why should he even bother going through with this?

_Because I'm done being a quitter._

He checked his watch. Four fifty-one. Nine minutes until the shop closed. There shouldn't be very many customers inside. Now would be a perfect time to go in there.

He remained rooted to the bench.

_Come on, O'Bannon. Just get up and walk over there. You can do it._

He still couldn't get up. His heart hammered against his chest. He clenched his teeth, trying to push down the nauseous feeling the burned his stomach.

_Get up now!_ Once that CLOSED sign went up on the store window, he doubted George would let him inside.

_So? I'll just come back tomorrow._

_And what? Put it off again, and keep putting it off because you're scared?_

He was truly scared, scared of what George would say to him, scared his one-time best friend would say things that could never be taken back.

_Since when have you let being scared keep you from doing something?_

O'Bannon put his palms on the bench and pushed himself to his feet. Chest tightening, he walked across the street toward Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. He got to the door, reached out his hand and stopped. Visions of his last meeting with George flashed through his mind, how mad he'd been at him, how he pushed him. Would he react the same here as well?

Sucking in a deep breath, O'Bannon pushed the door open.

Rows of shelves stretched across the shop, containing all manner of objects. Some whirled at blinding speed, others changed from one garish color to another, still others spewed fire or smoke or some sort of liquid. A bin of trick wands sat near the entrance. Skiving Snackboxes were piled on two nearby tables.

As he expected, not many wizards or witches patronized the shop this close to closing time. He kept scanning the store, trying to find . . .

A lead weight dropped into his stomach when he spotted George Weasley. He stood near a counter on the other side of the shop talking to a short, blonde witch wearing magenta robes. O'Bannon tried to open his mouth and say something, but anxiety robbed him of his voice. Maybe that was a good thing. The speech he had rehearsed in his head had completely abandoned him. He concentrated, trying to recall the words.

"Jimmy?"

He turned his head in the direction of the new voice. Standing between a pair of shelves was a tall, gangly boy with red hair and a long nose. O'Bannon tried to say something, but all he could do was gape at Ron Weasley.

The two just stared at each other for several silent seconds. He caught movement out the corner of his eye. With a nervous swallow, he turned his head.

George took a step toward him, his eyes wide with shock. The bubble of uncomfortable silence expanded throughout the shop. A few customers stopped what they were doing and focused on them, as if sensing the tension between him and George.

"Hey, George," O'Bannon finally managed to say, though he spoke just above a whisper.

George's lips pressed together into a thin, pale red line. His shoulders heaved with deliberate breaths. "Finally got the nerve to show up here, did you?"

O'Bannon gave him a puzzled gaze. Realization dawned on him as George continued. "I heard from Lee and Angelina. They said you've been going around to everyone, begging for their forgiveness."

O'Bannon averted his eyes, staring at the floor. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then looked back up. "George, we need to talk."

"I've got nothing to say to you." George glared at him before stomping around the counter.

"Look, I'm sorry. Okay?"

"You're sorry?" George stopped, his face twisted in a scowl. "You think that makes it all better? After everything that Fred did for you, that _we _did for you. We befriended you, we risked our lives for you to warn the Order about the Longathian Tunnel and to stop those Chupacabra. And then you just up and leave the Wizarding World and forget about Fred, why? Because it's too hard for you? You think it hasn't been hard on me? The rest of my family?"

"George, I can't even begin to imagine what you've gone through for the past two years."

"You're right, you can't. Because it was my brother who died, not yours! And I wasn't the one who ran away because it was too hard to deal with! I wasn't the one who treated Fred's death as an inconvenience."

"That's not . . . George, I am truly sorry for what I did. It was wrong, I admit it. Fred was one of my best friends, and leaving this world behind, trying to forget him and everyone else who died in the war, it was wrong."

George said nothing. He just continued glowering at O'Bannon.

"George, please. Just tell me how I can put things right and I'll do it."

"There's nothing you can do. Now get the hell out of my shop." George whipped around and slapped aside a curtain leading to a back room.

"George. George, c'mon. I'm sorry."

No response.

"George!" O'Bannon clenched his jaw. He started to head around the counter after George.

"Oi!" Ron marched toward him. "My brother said to leave his shop. So leave!"

O'Bannon halted and exhaled loudly. "Ron, I just wanna make things right. Would you please help me talk to George so we can -"

"Why the bloody hell would I want to help you?"

"Dammit, Ron. Will you just -"

"I told you to leave already, so leave."

"Ron, just -"

"I said leave!" Ron pulled out his wand.

O'Bannon's eyes flickered between Ron's blazing face and his wand. His mind raced, trying to find something to say to convince Ron to let him stay and talk to George a while longer.

But from the look in his eyes, Ron was determined to not let him anywhere near George.

So what else could he do? He certainly couldn't fight Ron. That would just make things worse between him and George, if that was even possible.

He just stood there, hoping to come up with an idea. None formed. He then noticed Ron's fist flex around the handle of his wand. George's younger brother looked just a few seconds away from unleashing a barrage of hexes on him.

Head lowered, O'Bannon trudged out of the shop, feeling Ron's eyes on him the entire time.

**XXXXX**

O'Bannon walked all the way back to McAuliffe's Marvelous Inn. He didn't feel up to Apparating. In his current state of mind he'd probably splinch himself, and he didn't feel like leaving a piece of his body behind. Frustration and misery ate at his insides as he replayed the meeting with George in his mind. Other thoughts compounded his mood, or more specifically, other people. Lee, Angelina, Seamus, Katie. All the Gryffindors had closed ranks, against him. Him! Good God, he had led them on the ice against the Slytherins. He had turned them into a tight-knit team, always supportive of each other on and off the ice.

_And that's exactly what they're doing now._

He almost wanted to laugh at the irony of it.

O'Bannon entered the inn and tromped up the stairs. When he got to his room he yanked out his wand and aimed it at the door.

"_Alohamora," _he snapped.

The door flew open with a bang.

Mireet jumped in her chair, the book she had been reading jumping out of her hands.

"Jimmy? What's wrong?"

He just growled as he slammed the door closed and stalked across the room.

"Jimmy? Jimmy!" Mireet sprang to her feet. "What's wrong? Did you see George? How did . . ."

She didn't finish the sentence. He figured she could tell by the look on his face how his meeting with George went.

"Oh, Jimmy. I'm so sorry."

He said nothing, just grunted and stomped back and forth, probably looking like an enraged bull.

"Jimmy?" Mireet edged closer to him, concern radiating from her face.

"I just don't get it." He flung his arms out to his sides. "No, I do get it. It's just . . . dammit! We're friends. Or we're supposed to be friends. I know I pissed 'em off, but you'd think after all we've been through, they'd at least listen to what I have to say. Instead, Angelina belts me when she sees me, Lee doesn't even want to meet me, and George couldn't throw me out of his shop fast enough. I don't know what to do, Mireet. I don't know how to get them to listen to me, to forgive me."

"We will think of something."

"What? What else can we do? Your whole emissary thing won't work any more. Forget about me just showing up at anyone's doorstep. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if George has already set up wards to keep me out of his shop. And we can forget about going to his family. Ron was there, too, and he looked like all he wanted to do was throw one curse after another at me. I doubt the rest of the Weasleys are gonna be willing to hear me out."

He sighed and stared at the floor, shaking his head.

Mireet crossed the short distance between them. She laid a hand on his biceps. "Jimmy, we will try again. But . . ."

"But what?"

She chewed on her lowered lip, looking away for a few seconds. "You remember what happened when we went to see Darius Forten?"

"Yeah?" He most definitely remembered that encounter. Rana Rollingsworth's former boyfriend refused to forgive him, feeling his leaving the Wizarding World was a betrayal of his ex-girlfriend's memory and the sacrifice she and her parents made in the war.

Mireet drew a slow breath, hesitation spreading across her face. "Do you remember what I told you? That there will be some instances where no matter how hard you try, the other person will not be willing to forgive you."

"Yeah?" O'Bannon's brow furrowed. He didn't like where this was going.

"It pains me to tell you this, but . . . but you may come to a point where you have to accept . . . well, as with Darius, some of our friends here may not want to for-"

"No." He slashed a hand in front of him and strode away from her. "No way. I refuse to accept that."

"Jimmy, you may not have a choice."

"So that's it?" He spun on his heel to face her. "You just want me to quit?"

"No, I am not saying that. We will try again to speak with George and the others. But, eventually, we may have to accept that nothing we do will convince them to forgive you."

"In other words, quit." His face twisted in anger. "I already quit once, Mireet, on this entire world. I'm not doing that again. I'm not a quitter."

"I never said you were. But at some point you may have to admit that some of our friends may not want to forgive you."

"No, I don't have to admit that. I won't! I thought you were supposed to help me patch things up with everyone."

"I am helping you." An edge crept into Mireet's voice. "I have been helping you for nearly three months. But you must be open to the reality that some people won't forgive you."

O'Bannon's teeth grinded together. His breathing became slow and deliberate. He couldn't believe Mireet was saying this to him. How could she tell him to just quit? And why? Because things were too hard? If they had that attitude during the war, Voldemort would have won easily.

He snorted and stomped toward the door.

"Where are you going?" asked Mireet.

"Out!" He flung open the door, then slammed it shut.

It was almost dark when he marched out of the inn and into Diagon Alley. He shoved his hands in his pockets and started walking with no particular destination in mind. He just wanted to get away from the inn, from Mireet. How the hell could she suggest that he quit? He had relied on Mireet over the past few months. She'd been his rock, helping him put his life back together. He had firmly believed she would be with him every step of the way.

Until now.

_Quit. No way. I don't quit. Losers quit, and I'm not a loser._

_What if she's right?_

O'Bannon tried to ignore the little voice in the back of his mind. But it kept speaking, growing louder, echoing through his head.

_No. She's not right._

But what if he couldn't get the Gryffindors to forgive him?

_I will._

_How?_

He racked his brains, but couldn't come up with an answer. Dammit, why couldn't he be better with words? Why couldn't he be as persuasive as Headmaster Dumbledore had been? My God, the man could fix just about any problem with a few well chosen words.

But he couldn't.

_I've led people into battle, I kept a bunch of kids hidden from Death Eaters for nearly a year, I created a hockey team out of witches and wizards who didn't know a damn thing about the sport. But trying to find a way to get my friends to forgive me, forget it._

O'Bannon spotted a loose cobblestone and kicked it. The rock clattered across the street. He followed its progress, then stopped when he noticed a wooden sign hanging above a door.

THE LEAKY CAULDRON.

Tingles raced through his body. His heartbeat picked up.

_No. Don't do it._

But he hated feeling this way. Hated being pissed off and miserable. Hated the thought of Mireet going against him, of his Gryffindor friends unwilling to forgive him.

He just wanted something to take the edge off, just for a little while.

O'Bannon took a couple steps toward the entrance, then halted.

_Just one, maybe two. Just something to help._

_You know you won't stop at just one or two._

_Yes I can. I'm stronger than I was before. I can handle it._

Drawing a breath, he entered the pub.

The place was fairly crowd, the din of multiple conversations filling the air. O'Bannon ignored it all. He made for an empty seat at the bar and sat down.

"What'll it be?" The barkeep asked, then shot him a suspicious gaze. The guy probably remembered him from the day Angelina punched him.

"Gimmie an ale."

The barkeep just nodded and walked away. A couple minutes later a mug floated onto the bar in front of him. O'Bannon grabbed the handle. He brought the mug halfway to his lips and stopped.

_Think about what you're doing._

_I can handle it._

_Like you handled it back in the Muggle World?_

_It's just one. I just need one._

He lifted the mug the rest of the way and took a huge gulp. Instantly he felt the tension start to ebb. He took another gulp, another. Soon the mug was empty. He slammed it on the bar. "Gimmie another."

The barkeep gave him a brief scowl. Seconds later the empty mug floated away. A full one soon replaced it.

O'Bannon raised it and took a swallow. He felt relaxed now. A couple more and he might start to forget about this suck-ass day. He could feel good, feel like he had no trouble in his life.

He smiled and lifted the mug to his lips.

"What do you think you are doing!?"

O'Bannon's head whipped toward the back entrance. Several other wizards and witches also looked that way. His eyes widened when he recognized the witch standing there.

"Oh you gotta be kidding me," he muttered under his breath.

Mireet glared at him from across the pub. "I cannot believe you are doing this again. Do you not remember all the problems drinking caused you in the Muggle World?"

He winced, trying not to look at anyone else in the pub. "For God's sake, Mireet. Can you not broadcast it to the entire world?"  
She put her hands on her hips, her glare more pronounced. "You are not going to use alcohol to deal with your problems, not while I am with you."

"It's just one. Okay, this one makes two." He lifted his mug toward her. "I just . . . after everything that happened today, I just needed something to take my mind off things. So just let me -"

Mireet's wand came out in a flash. _"Expelliarmus!"_

__The mug flew from O'Bannon's hand. It soared across the pub and crashed in the middle of a table. The remaining ale sloshed out of the mug and onto the two wizards sitting there.

"What the bloody hell?" One wizard jumped to his feet, staring at his damp robes, then at Mireet.

"Da'hell was that for!?" O'Bannon snapped.

"That's it!" The barkeep threw his towel onto the bar. "Every time you two have come in here you've caused nothing but trouble. Out! Both of you! Out now! And you're both banned from this pub forever!"

O'Bannon's jaw clenched. Embarrassment and anger consumed him. _How the hell could she do this to me?_

"Oi!" the barkeep hollered. "I said get out. Now!"

Growling, O'Bannon slid off the bar stool and headed for the back exit, trying not to look anyone in the eye. Especially Mireet. He strode past her without a word and made for the wall in the back. He tapped the specific bricks with his wand, waited for the hole to open, and went through. He didn't even check to see if Mireet followed him.

**XXXXX**

O'Bannon's eyes cracked open. He noticed sunlight streaming through the cracks in the curtain. He groaned and shifted under the covers.

_Time to get up._

Then the memories of yesterday flooded his mind. The disastrous meeting with George, his argument with Mireet, their first real fight since becoming boyfriend and girlfriend, going to the Leaky Cauldron and . . .

He rolled on his stomach, burying his face in the pillow. He closed his eyes. _I can't believe I did that._

It had been well over three months since he had a drink. Sure the urge had clawed at him on various occasions, but every time he had fought it off.

Until last night.

_Dammit, dammit, dammit._

He didn't want to think what would have happened if Mireet hadn't followed him when he left. She probably would have had to levitate his drunken ass back to the inn. Looking back on it, he knew he never would have stopped at a couple of ales.

_She saved my ass again, and I . . ._

O'Bannon felt movement next to him. He lifted his head out of the pillow and saw Mireet push aside the covers.

"Morning," he said.

"Good morning," Mireet muttered without looking at him. She got out of bed and headed for the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

O'Bannon sighed and rolled on his back, arms behind his head. Just great. On top of everything else, his girlfriend was pissed off at him.

_Why not? I deserve it._ He let her down. He had told her he wouldn't drink any more. But where had he wound up last night? At the Leaky Cauldron, ready to get totally wasted. He didn't think how Mireet might feel about it, just like he hadn't taken her feelings into consideration when he left the Wizarding World, or when he stormed off the night of the Yule Ball after she told him she did not want to get involved in a serious relationship with him.

_Why do I have to be such an asshole?_

He continued to lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. He had to apologize to Mireet right away. But would she accept it? Hell, no one seemed in the mood to accept his apologies lately.

_Why does she put up with me? I've been rotten to her so many times. There've gotta be guys out there who'd treat her better than me. How stupid can I –_

Someone knocked on the door.

O'Bannon's brow furrowed. He looked at the alarm clock on the night stand. It read 8:20.

_Who the heck could this be?_

Whoever it was knocked again.

Grumbling, he threw off the covers and padded to the door, clad in a faded Iron Maiden T-shirt and gray gym shorts. He twisted the knob and opened the door.

"Yeah?"

He drew his head back, a puzzled look forming on his face. Three people stood before him, eyeing him with curiosity. One was a slender woman with white hair and angular features. Next to her stood a portly man with a weathered face and thinning brown hair. Past his shoulder was a tall young woman with blond hair cut above the shoulders and features similar to the woman. She also had a muscular yet feminine build, similar to a volleyball player. Just like . . . Mireet.

His eyes bulged as the realization hit him. "Monique?"

Mireet's sister stared at him, unsmiling.

The older woman cleared her throat. "Excuse me, but we are here to see Mireet Miradeaux. We are her parents."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	17. Family Time

**CHAPTER 17: FAMILY TIME**

* * *

O'Bannon gawked at the people in front of him. He had anticipated eventually meeting Mireet's parents, just not this soon. Certainly he didn't expect to meet them dressed as he was in only shorts and a t-shirt.

"Mireet is staying here, is she not?" the older woman, Mrs. Miradeaux, asked.

"Oh! Um, yeah. Yeah, she is."

Mrs. Miradeaux slowly nodded. "Then I assume you are Jimmy O'Bannon?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that's me. Um, nice to meet you, Mrs. Miradeaux."

She gave him a brief smile before shaking his hand. "This is my husband, Georges, and my eldest daughter, Monique."

He shook hands with Mr. Miradeaux, who said nothing, just gave him a very appraising stare.

"Nice to see you again, Monique." O'Bannon stretched out his hand to Mireet's sister. He had met her briefly four years ago on the beach at Normandy. She and Mireet led him, Rosa, Jared and Artimus to a waiting port key following the Longathian Tunnel Affair.

Monique also said nothing as she gave him the briefest of handshakes.

O'Bannon managed a smile, his eyes jumping from one member of the Miradeaux family to the other, trying to figure out what to say next.

Then it dawned on him.

"Oh! Um, come in." He stepped aside and extended his arm. The Miradeauxes entered, their heads rotating to and fro, as if studying the small hotel room.

"This is the best place you could find to stay?" The skin around Monique's nose wrinkled as she continued to assess the room.

The veins in O'Bannon's neck stuck out. "Um . . . ah, best we could do on our budget." His voice trailed off, his gaze falling to the floor. He felt Mr. and Mrs. Miradeaux's eyes on him. Embarrassment crept through him. Would they be upset that he couldn't provide even a halfway-decent inn room for their youngest daughter?

When he finally worked up the nerve to look back at them, he noticed Mireet's father staring intently at something. He followed the older man's gaze, and swallowed.

Mr. Miradeaux was staring at the unmade bed in the middle of the room.

Hesitantly, he looked back at the wizard, who locked his narrowed eyes on him. O'Bannon didn't have to be skilled at Legilimency to know what Mr. Miradeaux was thinking.

_What are you doing to my daughter?_

_Not as much as I'd like_. He quickly pushed the thought out of his mind, fearing Mr. Miradeaux might know exactly what he was thinking.

"Um . . . Mireet's in the bathroom. I'll go get her."

He crossed the room, avoiding the stares of Mireet's parents and sister. When he reached the bathroom door he knocked on it.

"Uh, Mireet? Sweetheart? Could you come out here, please?"

"I am not finished yet," she replied through the door.

"Um, you may want to hurry up and get finished. Your parents and your sister are here."

"What?"

O'Bannon heard a muffled thump from the bathroom as something hit the floor. That was followed by a stream of rapid-fire words in French. While he may not be fluent in the language, he could tell by the tone that whatever words Mireet used couldn't be pleasant.

"I will be out soon," Mireet told him.

"Um, okay." He turned around, wincing when he found Mr. and Mrs. Miradeaux and Monique all staring at him. He pressed his back against the wall, wishing he could get his wand from the nightstand and cast a Camouflage Charm around him. He seriously doubted he was making a good first impression with the family of the woman he loved.

"Um . . . uh . . . so how was your trip?"

"It was the typical port key experience," answered Mrs. Miradeaux. "Nothing worth mentioning."

"Uh-huh." O'Bannon nodded, racking his brains for something else to say. Part of him prayed the Miradeauxes would spare him this torture and ask him something instead. He quickly reconsidered, fearing the sort of questions they may ask, questions along the line of, "What makes you think you are worthy of our daughter?"

"Um . . . you know, you speak really good English, Mrs. Miradeaux."

"_Merci."_ She gave him a brief smile. "There was a time when we traveled abroad a good deal due to our jobs at the Ministry. I insisted we learn the language of whatever country we resided in at the time."

"Yeah, Mireet told me that when we first met. She said she can speak five languages."

"_Oui._" Mrs. Miradeaux glanced at her husband, then back at him. "Our daughter is very skilled in many things."

O'Bannon nodded, tension spreading through his body. He tried to chalk it up to his imagination, but couldn't help feel there had been an underlying tone to Mrs. Miradeaux's comment. "What makes you think you are deserving of our daughter?"

Finally, thankfully, Mireet emerged from the bathroom. Her eyes widened and her face lit up, half from joy, half from shock.

"Mother. Father." She strode across the room and hugged them. "It is so good to see you again."

"You, too," Mrs. Miradeaux said. "It has been too long. Your father and I missed you so much. As did Monique."

Mireet looked to her older sister. "It is good to see you again."

"And you." A faint trace of a smile crossed Monique's face. At least, O'Bannon thought it did. He watched as both sisters hugged.

"So what are you doing in England?" Mireet asked.

"Is it not obvious?" Mr. Miradeaux spoke for the first time, his voice rather flat. "We wanted to see you."

"I planned to come see you when Jimmy and I were done here in England. I told you that in my letters."

"Forgive us if we did not want to wait," said Mrs. Miradeaux. "Now that you work in America, we get to see you so rarely. If we have any chance to see you, we must take it."

"_Oui, _you are right. Perhaps I should have come home sooner."

"Do not worry yourself, Mireet." Mrs. Miradeaux held up a hand. "We are all here now. That is what matters."

Mireet nodded and smiled. "So when did you arrive in England?"

"About an hour ago," Mrs. Miradeaux answered. "We had to get our passports stamped by the British Ministry and find an inn."

"We are staying at The Glowing Phoenix," Monique stated. "It is a very well-maintained inn."

The corners of O'Bannon's mouth twisted. He picked up the not-too-subtle dig. _We can stay at a nice inn, while you bring my sister to this dump._

Mrs. Miradeaux aimed a frown at her eldest daughter. He wasn't sure whether or not Monique noticed.

"Anyway." Mrs. Miradeaux swung her head from her daughter to him. "I thought we would arrive early so we could invite you both to breakfast."

"_Merci, _Mother," Mireet replied.

"Yeah, thanks," said O'Bannon. "I appreciate it."

"Do you already have somewhere in mind?" Mireet asked.

"I do. The atmosphere may be a bit . . . rough, but the food is surprisingly good, and it is famous throughout Europe. I thought we would breakfast at The Leaky Cauldron."

O'Bannon's eyes widened. He turned to Mireet, who looked just as alarmed. Her lips thinned and her eyes narrowed at him. He avoided her gaze, images of what happened last night at the pub pummeling his mind.

"Actually, Mother, may I recommend another place?"

Mrs. Miradeaux gave Mireet a curious look. "All right."

"Well, there is another place I thought you might want to try, one with more pleasant surroundings and even better food. The Waving Wand."

"Hmm." Mrs. Miradeaux's headed bobbed back and forth as she contemplated the suggestion.

"Please, Mother. You will enjoy it much more than The Leaky Cauldron. Trust me."

More seconds of silence. Finally Mrs. Miradeaux smiled. "Very well. The Waving Wand it is."

The tension in O'Bannon's body dissolved. The last thing he wanted was for Mireet to have to explain how they'd been banned from The Leaky Cauldron.

_I owe you, hon . . . again._

After he went to the bathroom and put on fresh robes, the five went outside and Apparated to The Waving Wand. As they walked through the door, O'Bannon reached out and squeezed Mireet's hand. He leaned against her and whispered in her ear. "Thanks . . . and I'm sorry for last night. I really am. I messed up big time."

She turned to him, her face a mask of seriousness. "_Oui, _you did. You cannot go back to alcohol as a way to deal with your problems, no matter how bad they are."

"I know, I know. I wasn't thinking. It'll never happen again. And . . . thanks for coming to get me." He bit down on his lower lip and glanced at Mireet's parents and sister, making sure they were out of earshot. "You've put up with so much crap from me over the last five years, and still you've stuck by me." He now squeezed both her hands, leaning in, standing on the balls of his feet so his forehead touched hers. "I'm so sorry. I feel like I can apologize for the rest of the century and it still won't make up for everything I've done to you."

He felt Mireet take a deep breath. She then smiled and kissed his cheek. "You are a good man, Jimmy O'Bannon. You have always been a good man. You are just going through a difficult time. But I know you will get through it, and I will always be here to help you, because I love you."

O'Bannon tried to swallow, but couldn't. His chest tightened. The urge to embrace Mireet and kiss her deeply, show her how much she meant to him, was almost overwhelming. Had they not been in a crowded restaurant, he would have done it. Instead he placed a short gentle kiss on her lips and whispered, "I love you, too."

"Mireet."

They both turned to find Monique giving them an impatient stare. "Come. We are being seated."

After they took their seats and ordered their breakfasts, Mireet's parents started asking her the typical catching-up questions. How is your job going? Do you still enjoy living in America? Have you traveled to other parts of America?

Just as their meals floated over to them, Mr. Miradeaux looked over to O'Bannon. "So, Jimmy. Mireet told us you actually work in the Muggle World playing that hockey sport."

He barely noticed his plate of sausages, eggs and toast set down in front of him, his gaze instead on Mireet's father. _And so the interrogation begins. _"Yeah, that's right."

"So how did you get involved in that?"

"Well, it was when . . . um, well, when I left the Wizarding World . . ." He shifted in his seat. He knew Mireet had told her family the reasons he left this world, but to talk to them about it still made him uncomfortable. After all, he was trying to make a good first impression. "I went to a tryout camp, and when it was over they sent me to this team in Fort Wayne."

"Fort Wayne?" Mr. Miradeaux's brow furrowed. "Where is that?"

"It's in Indiana, the middle part of the United States."

"Was your team good?"

"Yeah. We came up short in the playoffs, but overall it was a good season."

"And they pay you to play this game?" Monique fixed a cold stare on him.

"Yeah."

Monique rubbed her thumb and index finger on the handle of her tea cup. "How much do they pay you? Because judging by the inn you and my sister are staying at -"

"Monique!" Mrs. Miradeaux whipped her head toward her eldest daughter. She then said something in sharp, rapid fire French. Monique glared at her mother, then turned back to him.

"I apologize for my rudeness," she said, though without much sincerity.

"Yeah, no prob."

"Still, I find it strange that after all these years in _our _world, you would actually want to work in the Muggle World, to have an occupation where you do not use magic."

O'Bannon shrugged. "What can I say? I love hockey." He cut into one of his sausages and popped the piece into his mouth.

Monique sipped her tea, then looked back up at him. "Perhaps. But you spent . . . well, we attend Beauxbatons for seven years. I assume it is the same at that Salem Witches Institute."

"Yeah, it is."

A sardonic smile crossed Monique's lips. "So seven years, learning all about our world, learning to hone your skills as a wizard. Yet you choose to make your living playing some Muggle game with sticks and little black discs. Do you not feel like you wasted all seven of your years at Salem?"

"Monique, enough!" Mireet said in a harsh whisper.

Mr. and Mrs. Miradeaux both gave their eldest daughter a disapproving look. Monique gave a rather unlady-like snort and shifted her gaze to her plate.

No one talked much after that. Everyone pretty much concentrated on their breakfasts, though O'Bannon took occasional glances at Monique. Her sour look became more pronounced.

_What does she have against me?_

Whatever it might be, he prayed they could work it out. But given his current luck trying to fix things with his Gryffindor friends, he didn't hold out much hope.

**XXXXX**

Mireet clenched her teeth, fighting to keep her anger in check as she left The Waving Wand with her family and Jimmy. That fight proved more and more difficult every time her gaze drifted toward her sister. Monique's barbs toward Jimmy echoed in her head. Several angry retorts built up inside her mouth. But with her parents here, she kept them to herself.

The best she could do was glare at her sister. Jimmy had enough problems without Monique trying to embarrass him, make him feel inadequate. She knew her sister disapproved of him, even before he left the Wizarding World. Of course, Monique had always been rather overprotective of her, especially after her break-up with Marc-Andre. Then there was Monique's own heart-wrenching break-up with her boyfriend during her final year at Beauxbatons. Those two incidents, she always assumed, had made Monique wary of all men.

It still did not excuse her sister's behavior.

"So what shall we do now, Mother?" Monique asked.

"I had intended for us to stroll through Diagon Alley, but I think I have a better idea. I think it would be fun to explore Muggle London instead."

A jolt of excitement went through Mireet. "That's a wonderful idea." Her mother had taken them on tours of other Muggle cities during her time as a diplomat for the Ministry. Mireet always found the excursions fun, as well as eye-opening, seeing how Muggles built such huge cities and lived in them without the benefit of magic.

"That should be enjoyable, dear," father said.

Monique did not appear thrilled by the prospect.

They decided to Apparate back to their respective inns, change into Muggle clothing, and meet at Gringotts to exchange their Wizarding money for Muggle currency. Afterwhich, they'd head back to The Waving Wand, which had an entrance that led to Muggle London.

Mireet and Jimmy Disapparated outside McAuliffe's Marvelous Inn, went inside and took the stairs to their room. When they reached the landing, she noticed a gloomy look on her boyfriend's face.

"Jimmy? Are you all right?"

He stopped and stared at her, lip curling. He looked like he wanted to say something, but instead shifted his gaze down the hall.

"Jimmy? What's wrong?" She stepped closer to him.

Shoulders sagging, he turned to her. "It's just . . . we should be spending our time figuring out how to fix things with George, not sightseeing around London."

Mireet sighed and folded her arms across her chest. "Perhaps a bit of sightseeing is just what we need."

"Well how's that supposed to help?"

"It will get your mind, our minds, off our problems with George and the other Gryffindors."

"I don't want to get my mind off them," Jimmy stated. "I want to figure out how I can get them to talk to me again."

"And sometimes when you are having difficulty solving a problem, you must take a step back, distract yourself by doing something else, then return to it with a fresh approach."

"But we -"

"Look how frustrated this is making you." Mireet cut him off. "Merlin's beard, you almost got drunk again last night because of what happened with George. You need to spend at least one day not thinking about George or our other Gryffindor friends." She took a breath, softening her tone. "Remember when we were with the Triad. When you felt we had been practicing too hard for too long, when you felt we were tiring ourselves out, you gave us a day off so we could, er, what was the Muggle phrase you used? 'Recharge our _batty-eyes?'_"

Jimmy's brow furrowed, as if considering Mireet's words. She hoped he would find it difficult to argue with his own logic.

Sighing, he tilted his head to one side. "The word's _batteries_, by the way."

She flashed him a smile, which he returned briefly after another sigh. "All right. Maybe I do need to take a little break from all this."

"You do." She kissed his cheek. "Come, let's get changed. I'm anxious to see what Muggle London is like."

After putting on Muggle clothes, they Apparated to Gringotts. Mireet's parents and sister arrived a few minutes later. Once they got the appropriate Muggle money, they walked to The Waving Wand and went through the opening in the rear of the restaurant that led to the city.

Mother purchased a guidebook from a nearby bookstore, then spent a few minutes leafing through it, trying to figure out which sites to visit. The first one they chose was Westminster Abbey. Mireet marveled at the enormous, gothic structure with its two towers, the statues perched above the main doors and the cloisters behind the church. Such impressive architecture. What made it even more impressive was the structure had been built hundreds of years ago, before Muggles had things like engines and electronics and _comp-tutors._

Next they visited fortress-like Tower of London. Mireet found this structure rather foreboding, especially when she learned the Muggles had used this place as a prison and torture chamber.

She eyed Jimmy reading every plaque and studying every display he came across. Relief flooded through her, glad to see him getting into the tourist spirit. She felt that would happen, knowing how much he loved history. And Muggle London was filled with history.

They took in more famous landmarks. Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, Trafalgar Square. Sometimes, however, common Muggle items proved just as fascinating. While waiting at a street corner, Mireet saw her mother's eyes widen as she watched a Muggle look at a picture of a young woman on a little screen in his hand-held phone. She looked even more amazed at a huge billboard perched atop a building that shimmered and changed from a perfume advertisement to a can with a red and blue roundel named Pepsi.

"The Muggles can change billboards now in the blink of an eye? Without magic?" Mother gaped at the billboard. "Jimmy, you must tell me how they do this."

Jimmy said it had something to do with rotating panels, though he didn't sound sure. Despite all her experiences in the Muggle World, Mother still fell victim to the notion that all Muggle-borns knew how all Muggle devices worked. Then again, Mireet had been guilty of that on more than one occasion. She still remembered asking Jimmy how his _comp-tutor _worked, and being shocked by his answer. "Hey, outside of the 'On' button and clicking on the right icons, I have no idea how it works."

Even the Muggles themselves proved interesting.

"How can any self-respecting girl wear something like that?" Monique said with disgust as she spied a slender brunette with a top that showed off her belly button and a skirt that ended far above her knees. Mireet wrinkled her nose when she noticed Jimmy give the girl a quick, admiring glance.

Father, meanwhile, scrunched his face at the sight of a young man who'd transformed his hair into pink spikes and wore earrings in his nose and lower lip. Mireet grimaced, wondering how much it must have hurt to put in those earrings.

Later in the day, they went to Peter Jones, one of those big indoor markets the Muggles were so fond of.

"Mireet, Monique," Mother said. "Let's go to some of these clothing stores. I think perhaps it is time we updated our Muggle wardrobe."

Mireet nodded enthusiastically. Monique shrugged with indifference.

Jimmy and Father, however, looked none too anxious.

"Do not worry. I will spare you two the horrors of clothes shopping. Jimmy, perhaps you can show Georges some of the places here that sell _elley-trickle _things."

"Uh, sure." Jimmy glanced over at Father, who stared back at him with narrowed eyes.

A nervous ripple ran through Mireet's stomach. It was bad enough Monique had given Jimmy a difficult time. She didn't need her father doing it as well.

She managed to catch Father's eye and gave him a pleading look. _Please be nice to him._

Father's expression softened, somewhat. He looked back at Jimmy and jerked his head down the wide, brilliant white corridor. "Well, let's get a move on."

Jimmy nodded and looked to Mireet. She gave him a supportive smile as the two men headed off.

Mireet followed her sister and mother into the closest department store. She scanned the glass counters in the center of the aisle that sold various cosmetics and beauty aides. Most of them didn't catch her interest. The bottled products used for hair styling and skin care could be achieved more effectively with a wand or a potion.

They came to a section with a huge blue and yellow sign hanging from the ceiling that read SUMMER FASHIONS. Racks of clothes in a variety of sizes, colors and patterns fanned out in all directions. Mireet went through two racks without anything striking her fancy. When she checked the third rack, something finally caught her eye. A light blue top with a subtle flower pattern. No sleeves, just two very thin shoulder straps. She gently pulled it off the hanger and held it against her torso.

_Too small_. She frowned, once again cursing her six-foot-one frame. This wasn't the first time her height robbed her of a beautiful piece of clothing. She prayed this store had another top like this in her size.

"That is sure to titillate the American, if that is your intention."

Mireet whipped her head around. Monique stood a couple feet away, a smug look on her face.

"Does that bother you?" Mireet replied as she returned the top to its hanger.

"It concerns me."

"I think you are more concerned about my personal life than you need to be."

"I am your sister. I am supposed to be concerned about you, especially in matters of the heart. Your heart."

Mireet glowered at her older sister. "Then you do not need to concern yourself. For I am with someone I love with all my heart, and who loves me the same."

"I sometimes think your judgment is clouded when it comes to the American."

"His name is Jimmy!" Mireet snapped, drawing stares from a couple girls two racks over. She took a step closer to her sister. "And I do not appreciate the way you treated him at breakfast this morning. You know things are very difficult for him."

"Yes, I can tell they are by the quality of the inn you both are staying at."

Mireet drew a slow, angry breath. "I am not talking about money. I am talking about emotionally. The war nearly broke him."

"Yes, enough to abandon our world," Monique said. "Abandon you."

"I have forgiven him."

"You forgive too easily. I saw what you were like after the American -"

"Jimmy!" Mireet said through clenched teeth.

"After he left the Wizarding World to play his Muggle game. I saw how depressed you were, how much you hurt. It was just like when Marc-Andre broke up with you. I do not want to see you like that again."

"And what would you have me do? Be afraid to fall in love again? I made that mistake when Jimmy and I were at Hogwarts together. Had I had the courage back then, had I not let what Marc-Andre did to me rule my life, I would have given myself willingly to Jimmy. Our remaining months together at Hogwarts could have been wonderful, and it could have carried over through the war, and it may have kept him from leaving the Wizarding World. Instead it took five years before we even tried to begin a relationship."

"Yes," Monique said. "Five years of constantly pining for him, of staring at that picture of you and him from that Yule Ball, of hearing over and over what a 'wonderful man' your Jimmy O'Bannon is. If he is so wonderful, if he loves you as much as you say he does, then he never would have abandoned you in the first place. You would have been better off forgetting about him after you returned home from Hogwarts. Or better yet, forgetting about him once he left the Wizarding World."

"I cannot turn off my feelings like some Muggle electrical device like you can." Mireet's jaw tightened, feeling she may have come close to crossing a line with that comment.

Monique simply snorted and shook her head. "I am very mature when it comes to my emotions. For instance, I would not run off to the Muggle World to try and help a man who left me and broke my heart."

"Then what would you have me do?" Mireet raised her voice, attracting stares from more customers and store employees. She was grateful she and her sister argued in their native French so no one here could understand them.

Again she spoke in hushed tones as she continued. "What would you have me do? Let Jimmy drink himself to death like Uncle Theophile did? Or like our father almost did? We went through too much together during the war for me to abandon him."

"He is the one who abandoned you!" Monique hissed and jabbed a finger toward Mireet. "Your precious American left you and broke your heart because he is weak and he is a coward!"

Mireet's hand flashed in front of her. A loud _smack_ cut through the air as Monique's head whipped to the right.

"Don't you dare call Jimmy a coward!"

She ignored the shocked stares of the dozen or so Muggles nearby, rage blazing through her entire body. Her shoulders rose and fell sharply from savage breaths as she glared at Monique. Her sister rubbed her left cheek. Slowly she turned her head back to Mireet. Anger and shock radiated from Monique's face. But Mireet held her breath when she stared into her sister's eyes. Yes, they held anger, but they also displayed something else.

Sadness.

Mireet locked her eyes on her sister's glistening orbs. The hand she used to slap Monique trembled. Yes they sometimes fought when they were little. But that had been, at the time, over petty things. Nothing this important, this deep, so deep she actually felt something, just for the briefest of moments, that she never felt toward her sister.

Hatred.

The two witches just stared at one another. Mireet's mouth opened, desperately searching for something to say. She thought she should apologize, but after those comments about Jimmy, did Monique deserve an apology?

"Girls. Look."

Mother's voice cut through her stupor. Both Mireet and Monique slowly turned to her. Mother stood before them, smiling and clutching a colorful Muggle outfit in each hand.

"What do you think? These would look good on me, yes?"

The two sisters just looked at their mother in silence.

Mother's brow furrowed. Her eyes flickered between them. "What is wrong?"

Mireet's jaw quivered. "I want to go." Her voice cracked.

A bewildered expression came over Mother's face. "Go? But, Mireet, we've been here for barely ten minutes. Why would you -"

"I just want to go!" Mireet stormed past her mother and weaved through the racks of clothing, trying to pretend none of the gawking Muggles around her existed. Through tear-filled eyes she searched the store for any signs for the bathroom. She had to get someplace where she could be alone, before the urge to cry overwhelmed her.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	18. Promises

**CHAPTER 18: PROMISES**

* * *

An uneasy feeling crept through Jimmy O'Bannon when he spotted Mireet, Monique and Mrs. Miradeaux. Even from a distance, he could tell something was wrong with his girlfriend. She kept her head down and took slow, shuffling steps behind her mother and sister. As the witches neared the electronics store he and Mr. Miradeaux stood in front of, he noticed the watery redness in Mireet's eyes.

_Why would she be crying?_

He glanced at Mireet's mother and sister. Mrs. Miradeaux's face was stiff with concern. Monique appeared more dour than usual.

"Hey." O'Bannon squeezed Mireet's hand and kissed her cheek. "You okay?" he whispered in her ear.

"_Oui."_

He didn't believe her, given the strained tone of her voice. With the rest of her family around, he didn't think now would be the best time to push the matter.

Mrs. Miradeaux, who acted more subdued than at any other time today, suggested they try one of the many Muggle restaurants in the mall for dinner. On the way there, when they sat down, even after they ordered their meals, they hardly spoke. O'Bannon took occasional glances at Mireet and Monique. Both sisters still looked upset, and seemed to go out of their way to avoid eye making eye contact.

As soon as their empty plates were taken away, Mireet said, "I would like to go back to our inn. I'm tired."

"Are you sure, dear?" Mrs. Miradeaux asked. "Wouldn't you like some dessert?"

"No. I want to go back to our inn." Her words came out in a rush.

O'Bannon's brow furrowed. He held his breath, the worry building.

Mrs. Miradeaux bit her lower lip. It looked like she wanted to ask her daughter to reconsider. She then closed her eyes and nodded. "Very well."

The five of them walked outside and ducked into the nearest alley to Apparate back to Diagon Alley. There they said their good-byes, except for Monique. She just stayed quiet, determinedly not looking at her sister.

When they reached their room and closed the door, O'Bannon asked Mireet, "So what's going on with you and your sister?"

She turned her head toward him, her gaze, however, cast to the floor. "Nothing." She walked toward the bathroom.

"C'mon, Mireet." He strode after her. "You never accept that answer when something's bothering me. I'm not gonna accept it from you."

She stopped and spun around to face him. Her jaw tightened. Annoyance flashed through her eyes, as though she wished he'd just drop it.

Her expression softened. Shoulders slumped, she trudged over to the bed and sat on the edge. O'Bannon followed and sat next to her.

"Mireet." He took hold of her hand. "Talk to me. What's wrong?"

She sighed. After blinking a couple times, she slowly rotated her head toward him. "Monique and I. We . . . when we were at that Muggle clothing store, we got into an argument."

O'Bannon gave her hand a gentle squeeze as she related the story to him, how Monique didn't think he was the right man for Mireet, how she should have forgotten him after he left the Wizarding World.

". . . and then Monique said you were weak and you were a coward and I . . . I slapped her."

His eyes widened in shock. Mireet slapped Monique? He knew she and her sister had their differences, but he could never imagine Mireet actually striking her. Part of him wanted to feel glad about what Mireet had done. After all the smack Monique said about him, she probably deserved that slap.

The thought, however, died quickly when he studied Mireet's face, saw her distress, saw her fear that her moment of anger may have broken any bond she had with Monique beyond repair.

Tears slid down her cheeks. Her shoulders jerked from a sob. She fell against him and cried. O'Bannon wrapped his arms around her and gently kissed her on the head.

"Why?" Mireet tried to speak through her sobs. "Why can't I be close with my sister? Why does she have to be so difficult? Why?"

She didn't talk any more, just cried into his shoulder. He slowly stroked her hair, trying to come up with something comforting to say. His mind drew a blank. He never had any siblings, so what advice could he offer?

Guilt burned through his stomach. Mireet had helped him so many times over the past few months. Yet the one time she needed his help, he couldn't give it.

**XXXXX**

The next day O'Bannon and Mireet met the Miradeauxes and Monique at The Waving Wand for breakfast. This time the sisters did manage to make eye contact, a few times. They still wouldn't say a word to each other.

After they finished eating, Mrs. Miradeaux suggested they take a trip to Hogsmeade.

"I'm sure you would like to return to Honeydukes, Mireet. I remember how you raved about the fudge they sell there. And Monique has never been there. Perhaps you can show her all the amazing sweets they have."

Both sisters stared at their mother, then at each other. Neither looked particularly thrilled at the prospect.

Mrs. Miradeaux's forehead crinkled. She let out a harsh sigh and shot each daughter a scathing look. "At least pretend to enjoy yourselves. This is supposed to be a family holiday."

She pushed back her chair, got to her feet, and stormed off toward the door. Both Mireet and Monique glared at each other, as if they blamed one another for their mother's mood.

O'Bannon frowned. He couldn't see the situation between the sisters being resolved any time soon.

It took them a few Apparations to get to Hogsmeade. The first building they saw was a dingy pub with a hanging sign of a severed boar's head dripping blood.

"Ah, The Hog's Head." Mrs. Miradeaux said with a bit of awe in her voice. "Remarkable such a decrepit-looking place was the sight for such important history."

O'Bannon clenched his jaw as he stared at the pub, thinking how Harry had formed Dumbledore's Army here, and how two years later several members of that same group assembled here for the Battle of Hogwarts. So many of them he counted as friends, friends he felt he should have been with for that battle.

_How many of those friends hate me now?_

Guilt and sorrow welled up inside him. He lowered his gaze, not wanting to look at the Hog's Head any more. It did nothing to halt the torrent of memories and emotions.

"Did you ever go in there when you went to Hogwarts?" Mrs. Miradeaux asked Mireet.

"No. This place never held any appeal for me."

"I do not blame you," her father noted.

Mrs. Miradeaux looked over to Monique, her eyes pleading for her to get involved in the conversation. Monique, however, just grunted and nodded. It was the most responsive she'd been since her argument with Mireet. But judging by Mrs. Miradeaux's reaction, it was not the reaction she had hoped for.

They trudged on in silence, O'Bannon and Mireet walking hand-in-hand, Monique bringing up the rear, as far from her sister as possible. When they reached Gladrags Wizardwear, Mrs. Miradeaux took Mireet and Monique into the shop, sticking close to them, probably fearing a repeat of yesterday's incident at Peter Jones. O'Bannon and Mr. Miradeaux, meanwhile, went into Dervish and Banges magical supply shop. Mireet's father looked at a display case of pocket watches, including one that screamed out, "Two o'clock! Healer's appointment!" O'Bannon wandered to the other side of the store and checked out a rack of brooms. He sighed longingly. As with his owl, he'd returned his broom to the store he bought it from before leaving the Wizarding World. The fewer reminders of this life, the better, he'd thought at the time.

_Yeah, that worked._

He scanned the selection. A couple Cleansweep Sevens, some Comet 260s, a Nimbus 2000. Every one looked faded in color. A few even had nicks and scratches.

Used brooms. Even at their reduced prices, he couldn't seriously consider buying one, not with him and Mireet on a tight budget.

"Hmph! I cannot even remember the last time I flew on a broom."

O'Bannon turned to find Mr. Miradeaux standing next to him, running his eyes over the used brooms.

"Yeah, it's been a while for me, too." He forced a smile as he stared at Mireet's father. "I guess you're a pretty good flier, huh?"

Mr. Miradeaux shot him a quizzical look.

"Well, I mean, Mireet was a really good Quidditch player at Beauxbatons. I'm sure she had to pick up her skills somewhere."

A frown formed on Mr. Miradeaux's face. O'Bannon inwardly winced, hoping he didn't sound like he was trying to kiss the older man's ass. He despised ass-kissers.

"Sadly, no," Mr. Miradeaux finally responded. "I was a rather poor flier. I never even had the nerve to try out for Quidditch when I was at Beauxbatons. No, whatever talent Mireet has when it comes from flying, she inherited from her mother, who was a very good Chaser when she was at Beauxbatons."

O'Bannon nodded. "I really would have loved to have seen Mireet play Quidditch."

"She was a fine Beater." Mr. Miradeaux turned back to the brooms. He lowered his head, his eyebrows scrunching together, as though contemplating something.

"My daughter must think very highly of you, to journey halfway across your country and help you with your . . . problems."

Tension gripped O'Bannon's shoulders and spread to his chest. He slowly exhaled through his nose. "I owe her big time. If she hadn't come to Fort Wayne to help me . . . well, I'd probably still be getting drunk out of my mind every time I thought about the war." He clenched his jaw, thinking about his disastrous meeting with George, and how he tried to deal with it by drowning his sorrows in ale. He scowled at the memory, pissed he hadn't been strong enough to stay away from the damn booze that night.

"It is not an easy problem to overcome, is it?" Mr. Miradeaux said. "Drinking, I mean."

O'Bannon cranked an eyebrow at him, again wondering if the man could read his mind. He sighed before answering him. "No. No, it's not."

Mr. Miradeaux nodded, glanced at the exit, then back at him. "Come with me."

Without waiting for a reply, Mireet's father strode toward the door.

O'Bannon cocked his head, brow furrowed, wondering what the man was up to.

Mr. Miradeaux was just a few steps from the door when he started after him. It took a few quick, long strides to finally catch up to him.

Mireet's father said nothing, just kept walking. They passed Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, Tomes and Scholls bookshop, and the building that used to house Zonko's Joke Shop. O'Bannon's chest tightened when he noticed a sign on the window with a young boy wearing a huge grin. Bright red words danced across his teeth.

COMING SOON . . . THE NEWEST BRANCH OF WEASLEYS' WIZARD WHEEZES.

He sighed, George's accusations from two nights ago ringing in his head.

"Jimmy."

He snapped his head toward Mr. Miradeaux. The man nodded for him to come over. O'Bannon obliged, but took a couple glances back at the sign. As he sidled up next to Mr. Miradeaux, he noticed the building in front of them.

The Three Broomsticks.

Quivers went through him. He swallowed, images from two nights ago blazing in his mind. George yelling at him, the ale he had at The Leaky Cauldron. He could feel the bitter liquid on his tongue, recall the bliss of the alcohol washing away all his misery, if only for a moment.

"I know what you are going through," Mr. Miradeaux said.

O'Bannon turned him as he continued. "Drinking is not an easy problem to overcome. But it can be done."

He responded with a slow nod, glancing back at the pub, envisioning himself sitting down with an ale.

_I can't be here._ He took a couple steps back.

"That is not the way to deal with this," Mireet's father told him.

"Mister Miradeaux, I just don't think . . . I mean, it's probably best I don't -"

"This is like any other problem. You cannot avoid it. You must face it head on. You must look it straight in the eye, and tell it I am stronger than you. And there is just one way to do that."

Mr. Miradeaux marched toward The Three Broomsticks. O'Bannon just stood and watched him. No way was he going in there. No way did he want a repeat of The Leaky Cauldron incident.

Mr. Miradeaux put his hand on the door, then looked over his shoulder at him. "Trust me, Jimmy. If you want to take full control of your life, you must do this."

He opened his mouth, wanting to tell Mr. Miradeaux he didn't have it in him to walk into that pub and not drink.

Instead he kept silent. Monique already though him weak. Did he want Mireet's father to view him the same way?

O'Bannon scrunched his face, anger bubbling inside him. He dwelled on Mr. Miradeaux's words, about facing problems head on. Isn't that what he used to do before he left the Wizarding World? Did he really want to keep doing this, running away whenever anything got too tough?

Is that the sort of man Mireet deserved?

Fists balled, he took a deep breath and placed one foot forward. Then another, and another.

_You can do this. _Heck, hadn't he gone to The Leaky Cauldron with Michael, Terry and Anthony when he first got to England? He didn't drink then, though the urge to do so was there the whole time.

_I fought it then, I can fight it now._

Before he knew it, he was standing at the front door of The Three Broomsticks beside Mr. Miradeaux. The man pushed open the door, and they went inside.

The place was just how O'Bannon remembered it from his year at Hogwarts. Crowded, a bit smoky, but brightly lit with clean tables and floors and a large mirror behind the bar. The smell of ale and firewhiskey and several other drinks assaulted his nostrils. Tremors raced up and down his body.

_Just one. Just one._

_No. No!_

His breathing quickened. Dammit, why did Mr. Miradeaux have to bring him in here?

He turned to the French wizard, who seemed rather stiff, his eyes targeting the bar. O'Bannon wondered if Mr. Miradeaux had the same urge that he did.

"Merlin's beard, I remember you." A woman's cheery voice cut through his thoughts. He turned to find a curvy, attractive woman with brown hair and dark-yet-stylish work robes approaching him.

"You're the Yank who hung around the Weasley twins that year they had the Tri-Wizard Tournament." She beamed at him. "Jimmy O'Bannon, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it's me." He smiled and shook the witch's hand. "Nice to see you again, Madam Rosmerta."

"Good to see you, too, dear. How have you been?"

"Um, I'm . . . okay." He ran his eyes up and down Rosmerta's body. The witch had to be in her fifties, but she was still a babe. A smile flashed across his lips. He remembered how Fred and George used to tease Ron about his crush on the owner of The Three Broomsticks.

The smile vanished as his mind's eye replayed his meeting with George.

After introducing Mr. Miradeaux, Madam Rosmerta took each of them by the elbow. "Come now, don't just stand there. Makes yourselves comfortable." She led them to a table in the middle of the pub. "There you are. So what can I get you to drink?"

O'Bannon swallowed, pushing down the words "ale" and "firewhiskey." He drew a deep breath. "Butterbeer, please."

"The same," stated Mr. Miradeaux.

Madam Rosmerta gave them a curious look, then shrugged it off. "Two butterbeers it is, then." She sashayed off to the bar, O'Bannon admiring her swaying hips.

_Dude, your girlfriend's father is sitting across from you!_

He quickly looked down at the table, praying Mr. Miradeaux didn't notice him ogling Madam Rosmerta.

Their butterbeers appeared moments later. O'Bannon drained half his mug with one swig. It didn't do much to stem his desire for something stronger.

His mug hit the table with a thud. He gripped the handle tight.

"As I said, it is not easy." Mr. Miradeaux clutched his mug with both hands as he stared at him from across the table. "It has been twelve years since I have had anything with alcohol, yet not a day goes by when I experience the urge to have a drink."

A painful chill sliced through him. "Um . . . well, it's gotta go away eventually, doesn't it?"

Mr. Miradeaux frowned. "I do not know. As I said, it has been twelve years since I last drank, and still I have the urge. It is under the surface, but still there."

"You mean that's how it's gonna be?" O'Bannon's voice went up an octave. "I'm gonna have to fight this for the rest of my life?"

"That is what I believe."

O'Bannon fell back in his chair. His heartbeat picked up. He shook his head. "The rest of my life? It can't . . . I mean how . . . How do you fight something like this _every damn day_?"

"You just do. It is a struggle. That is why it helps to come into a place like this, to confront your problem face-to-face, and not give in, and know that you are strong."

"But what if . . . what if you can't . . ." O'Bannon slouched, avoiding Mr. Miradeaux's gaze. "I hadn't had a drink since that night Mireet came to see me. Almost three whole months. Then . . . then I . . . I fell off the wagon."

"I'm sorry?" A puzzled look came over Mr. Miradeaux's face.

"It's a Muggle expression. It means . . . you see, I went to see a really good friend of mine. Well, he used to be a good friend. He took it bad when I left the Wizarding World, so I went to apologize, but . . . well, let's just say the meeting didn't go well. Actually, he was probably a second away from hexing me. So I went to The Leaky Cauldron and . . . I had an ale. Thought it would help me get over it. I was on my second one when Mireet came in and knocked the mug out of my hand." He hung his head lower. "I'm sorry."

He waited for Mr. Miradeaux to say something. His shoulders tensed as the silence continued. He could only imagine the man's opinion of him spiraling into the toilet, and he wasn't one hundred percent sure what Mireet's father thought of him before they walked in here.

"We all falter, Jimmy."

He looked up at Mr. Miradeaux as he continued. "It happened to me. After my brother Theophile died, I went eight months without a drink. Then one day I just missed him terribly, and I got drunk. Simone kicked me out of the house, told me not to return until I was sober. I stayed with an aunt and uncle for a couple of days before I went back and apologized on bended knee to my wife and children. Simone told me if I ever got drunk again, I should leave and never come back. I have not touched a drink since."

Mr. Miradeaux folded his arms and leaned closer. "Always remember, there are people in your life who care for you, and who will help you. That help may seem harsh, but sometimes it is necessary. Sometimes they must force the issue, make a threat, one you know they will carry out. But it is being done to help you because they care about you, and they want to see you back the way you were." His shoulders slumped. "I put Mireet through hell when she was little. I deprived her of a good father for so many years, years neither of us can ever get back. There were . . . there were many times she cried herself to sleep because of my behavior. Believe me when I tell you that she will not tolerate any further drinking from you."

The corners of O'Bannon's mouth twisted. "Yeah, I kinda got that feeling when she expelled that mug from my hand the other night."

A brief smile appeared on Mr. Miradeaux's lips. "That is very much like Mireet. She can be so very sweet, but anger her and you will come to regret it."

"Yeah. Believe me, I know."

Mr. Miradeaux leaned back in his chair and took a swig of his butterbeer. "As I said before, Mireet thinks very highly of you."

"The feeling's mutual."

The French wizard sighed, his thumb rubbing up and down the handle of his mug. "I have known this for a long time, actually. The summer she returned from Hogwarts, she talked about you constantly. Every time she passed the photo of you and her at that Yule Ball, her eyes would always linger on it."

Mr. Miradeaux's face scrunched up before he went on. "But I also remember when she stayed with us after you left the Wizarding World. The last time I saw her so despondent was when that despicable bastard Marc-Andre broke up with her." His jaw quivered. "You have no idea what it feels like, to see you daughter in such pain, and not being able to do a thing about it. I never want to see her in that much pain again."

With a loud exhale, Mr. Miradeaux looked up at him. "Do you love my daughter?"

"More than anything in the world."

"Will you promise me that you will never cause her such heartache again?"

O'Bannon knew he should have said "yes." Instead he stared at Mireet's father. Nerves squeezed his stomach until it hurt. Should he tell him what he wanted to hear, or should he tell him the truth?

_Look at all the problems keeping the truth to yourself caused with Mom and Dad._

He shifted in his seat. "Mister Miradeaux, I wish I could make that promise to you, but I can't."

A dark expression fell over the French wizard's face.

"Please hear me out." O'Bannon raised a hand. "The night of the Yule Ball, when Mireet said she didn't want to get serious with me, well, I didn't handle it well, and I hurt her. After I apologized, I swore to myself I would never do anything to hurt her again. But I did. I did when I left the Wizarding World, even though she pleaded with me not to. And the other night at The Leaky Cauldron . . . yeah she was pissed at me, but more than that, I knew I hurt her again. I promised her I wouldn't drink, and I did."

He frowned as he continued. "Honestly, Mister Miradeaux, I'm still screwed up. I just have the feeling that before things get back to normal for me, I'm gonna mess up again. Heh! Knowing me, I'm probably going to mess up a lot. The best I can do is promise you that I will try my best to do right by Mireet, to be the best boyfriend I can, and to do my damnedest to make sure I never hurt her again."

Mr. Miradeaux regarded him in silence. Chills swept over O'Bannon's body. Anxiety fueled his pounding heart. He began praying Mr. Miradeaux would say something.

The French wizard slowly moved his jaw back and forth before speaking. "That was not the answer I sought, but I do admire your honesty. And I do not believe Mireet would have gone after you if she did not think you worth saving."

O'Bannon gave a half-smile. There were plenty of times he didn't think he was worth saving.

"All that I ask, _Monsieur_ O'Bannon, is that you treat Mireet well, and cherish her, for she is a very special girl."

"You better believe I will."

Mr. Miradeaux flashed him another smile and raised his mug. "To Mireet."

"Mireet." O'Bannon clanged his mug against Mr. Miradeaux's and downed the rest of his butterbeer. He slammed his mug back on the table and signaled for another round. A smile spread over his lips when he realized something. The urge to drink himself into oblivion had . . . well, maybe not disappeared, but it was under control. Maybe Mr. Miradeaux was on to something. Facing your problem head on, forcing the issue . . .

A light went on in his head. He thought back to his meeting with George Weasley, only this time, he felt a spark of hope.

Perhaps Mr. Miradeaux's advice could be used to solve another problem besides his drinking.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	19. Back In The USA

**CHAPTER 19: BACK IN THE USA**

* * *

Jared Diaz had an excellent view of the sky above him. Brilliant blue mixed with puffy white clouds.

Not that he particularly wanted this view, for it meant that he was on his back. He had his father to thank for that.

_I should've expected an attack from the side. _He'd been concentrating so much on his father's frontal assaults he hadn't noticed the ground wave to his left until the last second. Now he lay buried up to his neck in dirt, his wand several feet away.

He rotated his head to the left. Rosa still managed to deflect Dad's spells and hexes. She even animated two trees from the nearby woods and set them upon Dad, their branches flailing like some predator's talons.

Dad swept his wand in front of him. Both attacking trees were sliced in half. He then turned back to Rosa and cast three Body-Bind Curses. She blocked the first two. The third struck her in the calf. She grimaced, stiffened, and fell face first into the grass.

Jared couldn't help but chuckle.

"I think it's safe to say I won this round." Dad's shoulders heaved, his face glistening with sweat.

"Congratulations, Dad. Now, um, you think you can get me out of this thing?"

"If you hadn't concentrated solely on one direction of attack you wouldn't be up to your neck in dirt, son." Dad walked over to him, a grin spreading across his face.

Jared smiled as well. It had been so long since he'd seen his father happy. So many times he believed he'd never see such a sight again. Not only did Dad seem happy, but he appeared more confident than he had in the past two years.

_Why shouldn't he be confident? He's been kicking our asses the last two weeks._

__He, Rosa and Esteban had put Dad through the toughest training sessions they could think of. In the beginning, Dad could barely last a minute against the three of them. Several times Jared suggested to Rosa that they lighten up and let Dad win, just once, just to give him a little boost in confidence.

"Werewolves and reptoids won't let him win," she had told him. "Besides, letting him win won't help him build confidence. It'll just make him think we're pitying him."

He'd been pissed at Rosa after that, but now, weeks later, he realized his cousin had been right. Never once did they take it easy on Dad, and for every challenge of theirs he overcame, his confidence grew. It had gotten to the point where no matter what spell or hex or curse they threw at him, Dad defeated it.

Jared never thought he could feel so happy at losing.

Dad waved his wand. The dirt mound encasing Jared vanished.

"Nice goin', Dad." He got to his feet, using his wand to banish any dirt still on his robes.

"Thanks. I'm starting to feel like I'm back to my old form."

"If you ask me, you're ready to take on any monster out there."

"I don't know about that. As tough as your combat drills are, what I went through to get on SMACRAT was ten times tougher. But, if I got through it once, I can get through it again." Another broad smile lit up his face.

Jared's throat clenched. So many memories flashed through his head. Memories of his father wallowing in depression, shutting out his family, not caring about work or his personal appearance. The man that now stood before him was someone he hadn't seen in two years.

Tears stung the corners of his eyes.

_Merlin's beard, don't cry, you wuss._

"Do me a favor," Dad said. "Go lift those Body-Bind Curses on your brother and cousin. I think, as the Muggles say, I need to _take flies."_

Jared's face scrunched up. Seconds later the realization hit him. "Actually, Dad, the term is 'take five.'"

"Oh. All right. Take five it is."

As Dad walked back into the house, mopping his forehead with the back of his hand, Jared marched over to Esteban, who lay frozen on his back. He shook his head and he stood over his older brother. It had only taken Dad about thirty seconds to neutralize Esteban. Looking back on it, there were probably some Second Years at Salem who could have put up more of a fight than Esteban had.

_Wonder if something's bothering him._

Jared waved his wand and cast the counter-curse. Seconds later Esteban sat up.

"A lot of help you were here," Jared said jokingly.

Esteban just glared at him.

"You okay, man?"

"I'm fine."

Esteban didn't sound fine, judging from his tone. Whatever was bothering him, he obviously didn't feel like talking about it.

Jared let him be and walked over to Rosa. A wicked grin formed on his lips as he eyed his cousin lying face down in the grass.

_I know I'm gonna pay for this later._

He bent over Rosa, hands on his knees. "Rosa? Hey, Rosa! You need any help getting up?"

While she could hear everything he said, she of course, couldn't respond.

"Rosa? Oh Rooooo-saaaaa!" He tapped her on the back of the head with his index finger. "Hello, can you hear me?"

Jared closed his eyes and shook with laughter. "Oh, I forgot. You under a Body-Bind Curse. Do you want me to lift it?" He paused. "Well, do you want me to lift it or not?

"Jared, knock it off."

He turned to Esteban, who stared at him less-than-amused.

"Oh, all right." He cast the counter-curse.

Rosa sprang to her feet quicker than he expected, fire blazing in her eyes.

"What? I undid the Body-Bind Curse, didn't I? Oh, by the way. You got some dirt on your nose."

Before Jared could react, Rosa snapped up her wand. A stream of dirt flew from the tip and struck him in the face.

"There! Now you have dirt on your whole face, which if you ask me is an improvement!"

She stomped off, muttering unflattering comments about him under her breath.

Instead of being mad, Jared smiled as he wiped the dirt off his face. This was another thing he missed over the past two years. Him and Rosa joking around with each other.

He held his breath, elation bursting inside him. His family was finally getting back to normal.

"Where's Uncle Irving?" Rosa asked as she used a Summoning Charm to get three glasses from the kitchen.

"He went inside to rest for a few minutes." Jared sat cross-legged on the ground with Rosa and Esteban as they filled their glasses with water from their wands.

"I gotta say, Uncle Irving's really gotten better over the last couple of weeks."

"Yeah, we were talking about that before he went inside," Jared said. "Though I don't know if you heard it, since you were lying facedown in the dirt the whole time." He laughed.

Rosa flipped him the middle finger. She then turned to Esteban, who just sat there staring at his glass of water.

"Esteban. You okay?"

"I'm fine," he replied without looking up.

The skin around Rosa's nose crinkled. "Like hell you're fine. You've been distracted all day. So what's bothering you?"

"It's no-"

"No! Don't tell me nothing. Something's going on with you, and I wanna know what it is." Rosa's narrowed eyes bore in on Esteban. She was not going to take "no" for an answer.

Esteban sighed, a crest-fallen look on his face. "I talked to Oriana through the Floo last night."

Jared's eyes widened. He scooted closer to his brother, anxious to hear about their conversation. The couple had been separated for months, since the night Esteban struck Rosa during an argument.

"So what did you say to her?" Rosa asked. "What did she say?"

"Well, we talked about how Rodolfo's doing, how Dad's been doing in our training sessions."

"And . . ." Rosa leaned forward.

Esteban's shoulders slumped. "We . . . we talked about trying to get back together. Actually, I was the one who brought it up. But . . . Ori's reluctant to do that. After that night when I hit you -"

"But it was an accident," Rosa said, her words rushed. "Oriana has to understand that."

"Maybe it was, and maybe she understands that. But she told me she worried about getting mad like that again, and that maybe next time I might hit her or Rodolfo."

"No way." Rosa shook her head. "There's no way you'd ever hit your wife or your son."

"I hit you, didn't I?"

"It was an accident, Esteban."

"Does it really matter? I hit you. I couldn't control my temper and I hit you. And if I ever did that to Ori or Rodolfo . . ." His jaw stiffened. He took a slow breath before continuing. "I'd never be able to forgive myself if that happened. Maybe . . . Maybe it's better they stay away from me."

"Bullcrap!" Anger lines marred Rosa's face. "You love Oriana and you love Rodolfo. And look at you. You're miserable without them."

Esteban shifted in the grass. "Well, Ori did mention something. Something to do to maybe help us get back together."

"Then do it."

"I don't know. It's complica-"

"I don't care what it is. If it gets you back together with Oriana and Rodolfo, do it."

"She wants me to see a Mind-Body-Spirit Healer." The veins in Esteban's neck stuck out. "I mean, does she know what she's asking? I go to one of those people and everyone's gonna think I'm a basketcase."

"Oh, quite worrying about what other people will think about you. Getting back together with your wife and son is way more important."

"But what about the stigma attached to people who see an MBS Healer?"

"Merlin's beard!" Rosa threw her arms over her head. "What is it about the men in this family? You're all so damn stubborn and prideful that you won't ev-"

The _crack _of someone Disapparating filled the air, cutting off Rosa in mid-rant. All three turned their heads to see a slender witch with long dark hair standing at the edge of the Apparation barrier.

Jared's entire body tensed when he recognized her.

"Mom!" Rosa got to her feet and strode over to Adelaide Infante, Director of the United States Aurors Bureau.

"Hello, Rosa." She hugged her daughter, then looked to the Diaz brothers. "Esteban. Jared." Her voice trailed when she said his name.

Jared simply nodded at his aunt.

"What are you doing here?" Rosa asked.

"I just wanted to check up on my brother, see how his training is going."

"It's going very well, Aunt Adelaide," Esteban said.

"He's right." Rosa nodded. "We can hardly beat Uncle Irving any more, and we're throwing every spell we can think of at him. You should see him, Mom. He's like his old self again."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"So do you think he can return to SMACRAT?" Rosa bounced on the balls of her feet. "I think he's ready, Mom. I really do."

Aunt Adelaide smiled and held up a hand. "I'm sure you think so, and I'm sure he's doing outstanding. But he has a lot more to do than best a young auror and two brothers in combat drills before he can go back to an elite unit like SMACRAT. Though from what you're telling me, I think he might be well on his way."

Rosa beamed, as did Jared. Esteban even managed to smile.

"So where is Irving?" Aunt Adelaide asked. "I need to talk to him."

"He took a break. He's inside." Rosa nodded to the house.

"Thank you." Aunt Adelaide headed toward the front door, then stopped next to Jared. They just stared at one another in silence. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, debating whether or not to say anything. _What the hell can I say?_

Aunt Adelaide also looked like she couldn't decide whether or not to say anything to him. In the end, she just nodded to him and went inside.

Jared snorted, glaring at the ground. So many thoughts, so many emotions, swirled inside him. He couldn't decide which one to latch onto.

"Jared."

He looked at his cousin, who wore a pleading look. "How long are you gonna keep this up? Can't you just -"

"Not now, Rosa." He turned and walked away.

"Yes, now. You need to -"

"_Accio broom!" _Seconds later, Jared's broom shot through the sky and into his free hand. "I need to take a ride, clear my head. I'll be back."

He hopped on his broom and took to the sky, the wind drowning out whatever Rosa was saying to him. He really didn't need her badgering right now. His thoughts were a jumbled mess. Hopefully some time in the air, away from pestering relatives, would give him a chance to get his head right.

It didn't.

**XXXXX**

After another long day of drills, Jared, Esteban, their father and Rosa retired inside for dinner, which Rosa and Esteban helped prepare. Lamb chops with mashed potatoes and peas. Much of the dinnertime conversation was dominated by Dad and Rosa. Jared ate in relative quiet, lost in his own thoughts, thoughts that mainly revolved around Aunt Adelaide. He thanked Merlin Rosa hadn't brought it up after he got back from his short flight. He needed to figure this out himself. Not that he was having much luck.

After doing the dishes, Rosa bid everyone good night and Flooed back to her apartment, but not before giving him and Esteban concerned looks. As for the Diaz men, they each went upstairs to their bedrooms. Dad would probably go to sleep in a little bit. Lately he'd been going to bed before the sun fully set. No surprise the way they were training him. Esteban would probably stay in his room alone and brood, especially after the way last night's Floo call with Oriana went.

Jared took the longest of the three to make it to his bedroom. He kept stopping to look at the framed moving photographs that hung on the walls of the hallway. He gazed at the photo of him with Aunt Adelaide and Uncle Cesario at his graduation from the Salem Witches Institute. Another one showed him, probably around age twelve, sitting next to Aunt Adelaide at a Boston Bandits game, both of them waving pennants. Yet another photo had him around age six, smiling and waving as he sat on Aunt Adelaide's broom, which she flew just a few feet off the ground.

He sighed and dropped his gaze to the floor. He recalled his earlier thought, that his family was finally getting back to normal. But between Esteban and Oriana's separation and his feelings toward Aunt Adelaide, they weren't close to the way things used to be.

He pushed open the door to his room and fell back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

_I should have said something to Aunt Adelaide when she was here?_

_Like what?_

Jared groaned and pushed his head deeper into the mattress. He closed his eyes, the photos he'd just looked at floating through his mind. He tried to recall those days before the war, back when Aunt Adelaide had been more of a second mother to him than just an aunt.

A memory suddenly surfaced. Him and Rosa together. They had to have been, what, five? He was soaking wet and crying, while she yelled at him to shut up.

Oh yes, he remembered that day well.

"_Aunt Adelaide! Aunt Adelaide!" He sobbed as he entered the back door of Rosa's house, dripping water all over the kitchen floor._

"_Jared? Merlin's beard, what happened to you?"_

"_It's nothing, Mommy," Rosa said. "Jared's just being a big baby."_

"_Rosa pushed me into the creek."_

"_What?" Aunt Adelaide's eyes flared as she looked at her daughter, who cringed._

_Jared continued talking through his sobs. "She . . . she found a toad and I wanted to hold it and she said 'Nuh-ahh' and I said, 'I wanna hold it,' and then she pushed me in the creek."_

_Aunt Adelaide's nostrils flared. "Rosa, what is wrong with you? You don't push people into creeks."_

"_It wasn't deep."_

"_I don't care! Jared is your cousin. You're supposed to be nice to him."_

"_He was bugging me. It was my toad. I found it."_

"_I just wanted to hold it!" Jared's crying grew louder._

_Aunt Adelaide scowled. "Young lady, you march right upstairs to your room and stay there. We're going to have a long talk about this . . . don't stick your tongue out at your cousin! How many times have I told you how rude that is?"_

_Pouting, Rosa stomped out of the kitchen and up the stairs._

"_Come here, honey." Aunt Adelaide led Jared to a chair and sat him down. "A simple Drying Charm will take care of this . . . see. All better."_

"_Thank you, Aunt Adelaide." He sniffled._

"_You're welcome. Would you like one of my Rainbow Sugar Cookies?"_

_Jared nodded. She handed him a round cookie that changed colors from red to green to yellow._

"_I hate Rosa!" he yelled._

"_Oh come on, Jared. You don't hate Rosa."_

"_I do! She pushed me in the creek. She's mean."_

"_Okay. I know what Rosa did wasn't nice. But just remember, even though she was mean to you, she still loves you."_

"_Then why did she push me in the creek?"_

"_Well, honey, sometimes people can get upset with someone they love, and they do something mean without really thinking about it. That's what happened with you and Rosa today. Despite what she did, she still loves you, and when she has time to think about it, she's going to feel really bad about it."_

"_Really?"_

_"Yes, really." Aunt Adelaide nodded. "Trust me, by tomorrow, you two will have forgotten all about this and go back to being friends again."_

"_Really?"_

_"Of course. That's what people who love one another do. They forgive each other."_

Jared folded his arms behind his head, replaying that memory from sixteen years ago. _If only it were that easy._ Maybe it was that easy. Unfortunately, his cousin pushing him into a creek at age five couldn't compare to what Aunt Adelaide had done to his father.

He rolled onto his stomach. He needed advice from someone. But who? Rosa? No. As much as he loved her, he didn't feel up to one of her browbeating lectures. Jimmy would be a good choice, if he weren't over in England.

_No, scratch that. How can Jimmy give advice when he's still trying to straighten out his own life?_

That left him with one choice.

He got out of bed and walked softly down the hall so as not to disturb Dad or Esteban. He gently took the stairs to the living room, where he threw some Floo Powder into the fireplace and announced the appropriate address. Green flames gushed from the mouth. He stuck his head into them. Seconds later a face appeared, an angular face with close cropped brown hair.

"Hey, Artimus."

"Jared? How are you doing?"

"I'm okay. Hey, I hope I'm not bothering you. I know it's kinda late."

"No, that's fine. What's up?"

"Um . . . Hey, would you mind if I Floo over to your place? There's . . . well, there's some stuff I wanna talk to you about."

Artimus' face scrunched in concern. "Uh, sure. Come on over."

"Thanks, Art. I appreciate it."

Jared straightened up and stepped through the green flames. Seconds later he stood in the living room of Artimus Rand's apartment in Washington D.C.

"Jared." Artimus shook his hand as the green flames died down. "Good to see you."

"You too, man. Thanks for lettin' me come over."

"Sure. Anytime. Are you okay?"

Before he could answer, someone called out, "Hey, Jared."

Jenna Fabrici, Artimus' Muggle girlfriend, strode up to him and hugged him. Jenna's younger sister, Samantha, also greeted him. He blinked a couple times at the tanned, dark-haired girl. Had she gotten bigger since the last time he saw her? Another shocking realization hit him. In a couple of months Samantha would be starting her third year at Fantimoor.

_Where the heck does the time go?_

"So what did you want to talk about?" Artimus asked.

Jared worked his jaw back his forth, his eyes flickering between the three of them. "Um . . . well, I've got some . . . family issues, and I, um . . . I just need some advice."

"Sam." Jenna placed a hand on her younger sister's back. "Would you mind going to your room for a bit?"

Samantha slouched in disappointment, then looked over at Jared. A sympathetic look formed on her face.

"Yeah, sure. No prob. I'll see you later, Jared."

He flashed her a brief smile as she headed off to her room. Once they heard the door close, Artimus turned to him. "So what's going on with your family?"

Jared sighed. "Aunt Adelaide came by the house today."

"You didn't get into an argument with her, did you?"

"No, we didn't argue. Actually, I didn't say anything to her. That's the problem."

Shaking his head, Jared walked over to the couch and plopped down on it. Artimus and Jenna came over and sat with him.

"So what was Mrs. Infante doing at your house?" Artimus asked.

"She was doing another check-up on Dad."

"And how's he doing?"

"Fine. Great, actually. He's kicking all our asses in our training sessions, he's confident, he's even happy. Aunt Adelaide seems to think he could go back to SMACRAT eventually."

"That's great news," Jenna said. "I know you told me how much that group means to him."

Artimus' brow furrowed. "So if Mrs. Infante thinks your Dad could work for SMACRAT again, why do you still have a problem with her?"

Again, Jared sighed. He pressed himself back into the cushions of the couch. "It's just . . . every time I see her, I think about how she recommended Dad be kicked out of SMACRAT." He shook his head. "Between that and my mother getting killed, it almost destroyed him."

"I know you blame Mrs. Infante for that," Artimus said. "But hasn't she made up for it by the way she's helping your father?"

"Yeah, I guess. I don't know. But even when I see Aunt Adelaide helping Dad, and when I see him acting like his old self, I just think back over the past two years, how depressed he was, and I can't help it. I get so pissed off at Aunt Adelaide, I wonder why it took her so long to help him, why she had to kick him out of SMACRAT in the first place."

He stared at his lap quietly for several seconds, the corners of his mouth twisting. "Part of me just wants things to go back to the way it used to be with me and Aunt Adelaide."

"I don't think that's gonna happen until you apologize," Artimus suggested.

"I know, man. But every time I think about apologizing to her, I just can't. It's like . . . I don't know, it's like part of me doesn't want to stop hating her."

Jared grimaced and turned away from Artimus and Jenna.

"Jared." It was Jenna who spoke. "I kind of have an idea what you're going through?"

He looked back at her. "Really?"

Jenna nodded. "I see it sometimes interning at the hospital. When someone loses a loved one or they get diagnosed with some terrible disease, they look to blame someone or something for it. God, one of the doctors, stuff in the air, stuff in the water, other family members. Whatever they chose to blame it on, they start hating it. But the truth is, a lot of times, there's no one or nothing you can blame it on. It just happens."

"But Dad getting booted off SMACRAT didn't just happen. Aunt Adelaide made it happen."

"The point is, and one of the older nurses told me this. The point is, that hatred is just another way to grieve. Sometimes it's almost comforting. People get so caught up in their hatred it pushes away their sadness and fear. Not that I think that's the best way to deal with it. Besides, we have Adolf Hitler and Voldemort as great examples of what happens when people get consumed by hatred."

Jared groaned. "Come on, Jenna. I don't think what's going on between me and Aunt Adelaide is gonna make me get a snake tattoo and start yelling, 'Death to Muggle-borns.'"

"I'm not saying it will. But you have to admit, hating your aunt isn't a good thing."

"She's right, Jared," Artimus head. "And Mrs. Infante isn't just some aunt you see at family reunions. You said it yourself, she's like a second mother to you."

Artimus exhaled slowly, staring at the floor. After biting his lip, he lifted his head and stared back at Jared. "I never even had _a _mother. My real mom died when I was little. I can barely remember her. After that I just had one step-mother after another. Every time my father remarried, I always hoped that my new step-mother would care about me, that I'd finally have a parent who actually treated me decently. But it never happened. Every step-mother I had didn't care about me at all. Heck, I was almost like an afterthought to them."

Artimus paused briefly. "But you're lucky. You had two mothers. I mean, I know Mrs. Diaz is dead, and I know no one can replace her. But you still have Mrs. Infante. She can be, I don't know, sort of like a step-mother . . . a nice one. Or maybe step-mother isn't the right word. Um . . . well, you know what I mean, don't you?"

Jared couldn't help but grin. "Yeah. Yeah, I do, buddy."

He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees and staring at the carpet in thought. Artimus and Jenna were right. Deep down, he probably knew this stuff all along. Aunt Adelaide had always been like a second mother to him, and maybe he had grown comfortable hating her.

He thought about all the help she'd given Dad over the past few months, thought about how he'd gotten better. Shouldn't he thank her for that? Shouldn't he finally apologize for those horrible things he said to her after Dad's dismissal from SMACRAT?

Jared knew the answer. Yes, he should apologize to Aunt Adelaide.

Now all he needed was the courage to do it.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	20. Poison Pen

**CHAPTER 20: POISON PEN**

* * *

When they returned to McAuliffe's Marvelous Inn that evening, O'Bannon told Mireet of his latest idea to try and reconcile with George. As he expected, Mireet looked rather skeptical, even a little worried, about what he had in mind.

"I don't want to see you get hurt," she said.

"Yeah, well, I don't want to see me get hurt, either." O'Bannon paced in front of Mireet, who sat on the bed. "But if it helps put everything right between me and George, then it'll be worth a little pain."

Mireet folded her hands in her lap and slowly shook her head. "I do not like this idea of yours. Surely sitting down and talking would be a better alternative."

"George barely gave me a chance to talk last time."

"Then let me try to talk to him."

"We've already been down that road, hon. The minute George sees you, he's gonna know you're coming to talk about me. You'll be lucky if he opens the door for you."

Mireet stared up at him, her eyes filled with apprehension, and agitation. "This is something that should be resolved with words, not . . . not with what you have in mind."

"I'm just going by what your father said, that sometimes you have to force the issue." O'Bannon sat next to Mireet and put a hand over hers. "After what happened the last time I went to see George, I don't think there's any other alternative. There is no way I'm gonna go through the rest of my life with George hating me, not after everything we've been through. And that goes for the other Gryffindors. If George is going to be pissed off at me, then I'm gonna use that to my advantage."

An irritated breath hissed through Mireet's teeth. "You sound like you are preparing for a battle instead of trying to make peace."

"Trust me, trying to fix things between me and George is going to be a battle, figuratively, and maybe literally. So it might be a good idea for you to brush up on some basic healing spells." O'Bannon forced a smile.

"That is not funny." Mireet yanked her hand away from his.

"Mireet, c'mon. I'm sorry." He placed a hand on her shoulder and gently rubbed it. "Look, I know you're not crazy about this, but I'm asking you to let me go through with it. Please."

She looked at him, worry and frustration flashing across her beautiful face. Several seconds passed before her shoulders sagged and her brow furrowed. "Fine. Do this if you must. But do not expect me to like it."

O'Bannon frowned slightly. It hadn't been the ringing endorsement he'd hoped for, but right now he'd take it.

"Thanks. I love you." He leaned over and kissed her on the side of the head. She turned to him, unsmiling.

"So when do you want to do this?"

"Probably next week, after your parents and your sister head back to France. If I wind up with any marks or . . . other things, I'd rather not explain to them how it happened."

"A wise decision." Mireet nodded. "That is perhaps the only wise thing about your plan."

"Yeah, maybe." O'Bannon's gaze dropped to the floor. He stared intently at the scuffed wooden floorboards. He felt some of Mireet's trepidation creep into him.

_No. This will work._

_It has to work._

_It had better work._

If this plan of his didn't work, he doubted anything else would.

**XXXXX**

O'Bannon's next few days with Mireet's family were spent touring the United Kingdom, taking in sites both magical and Muggle. In Ireland they saw the basalt columns of the Giant's Causeway, the magical sea creature preserve off Rathlin Island, and a mock Leprechaun village in the Wicklow Mountains (no Leprechaun would allow humans anywhere near a real village of theirs). In Wales they saw the tall waterfall at Pistyll Rhaeadr and the underground healing springs outside Flintshire. In the Gog Magog Hills of Suffolk they visited the large workshop, and the forest next to it, where most of the brooms in the country were made. The more sightseeing they did, the more O'Bannon's problems with the Gryffindors, and his worries over his next meeting with George, faded to the back of his mind. He actually began to enjoy himself, a rare thing for him these past two years. Best of all, Mireet's parents had warmed up to him. Rarely now did Mr. Miradeaux give him questioning looks over his worthiness to date his youngest daughter. Mrs. Miradeaux, who worked for the French Ministry of Magic's Office of Muggle Relations, many times bombarded him with questions about the Muggle World, usually about things like cell phones, portable CD players, the latest music trends, the latest fashion trends – to which a T-shirt and jeans guy like O'Bannon had little knowledge of, and even less interest in. He also discovered that Mrs. Miradeaux's knowledge of the Muggle World was much more extensive, and accurate, than most other wizards or witches in her line of work. She didn't mangle words like _fellytone _and _comp-tutor _like many purebloods did. She also asked him about his family, about growing up in Boston, his plans for the future. That last one caused him some unease. He hadn't really focused on much else beyond trying to reconcile with his friends in England. Heck, he wasn't even one hundred percent sure if he wanted to find a career in the Wizarding World, or go back to the Muggle World and play another season with the Fort Wayne Komets.

_If they'll even take me back._

Thankfully, Mrs. Miradeaux didn't keep after him about it.

While he got on well with Mireet's parents, the same couldn't be said regarding Monique. She continued to remain distant from everyone, especially Mireet. When the sisters had to talk, their conversations never went beyond a couple of sentences. When it came to O'Bannon, however, Monique treated him like he didn't exist. He started to write her off as a lost cause.

_Don't be so quick. How many of your friends here and back in the US forgave you when you came back to this world?_

The key word there, however, was "friends." He and Monique had never been friends. In fact, he had the distinct feeling Monique had made up her mind not to like him long before she ever met him.

The day before Mireet's parents and sister were due to return to France, O'Bannon awoke with an apprehensive feeling winding its way through his insides. Once Mr. and Mrs. Miradeaux and Monique went home, he would have to see George, have to put his crazy-ass plan in motion. The more he thought about it, the more he could see it going horribly wrong.

_Maybe, maybe not. Either way, I'm committed. _

After getting dressed, he and Mireet met the Miradeauxes for breakfast. Once they finished eating, Mrs. Miradeaux announced she wanted to do some shopping in Diagon Alley before heading into Muggle London. One of her big things for today was watching airplanes take off and land at Heathrow Airport.

"No matter how many times I see them," she said, "I am always fascinated that Muggles can keep something so large in the air without magic."

O'Bannon couldn't help but smile. _I should introduce you to Mr. Weasley sometime. _He remembered how the man had also been enamored by _airy-plins._

The smile suddenly vanished from his face. Thinking of George's father reminded him of his planned meeting with George tomorrow.

They first stopped in Flourish and Blotts, as Mrs. Miradeaux had promised one of her nephews she would get him a book about Goblin rebellions. For whatever reason, the kid found wars involving Goblins very interesting.

_More power to you, buddy. _A year of having to put up with Professor Binns drone on and on and on in his monotone voice about this Goblin rebellion and that Goblin rebellion killed any interest O'Bannon might have had in the subject.

Everyone went off in different directions at the bookstore. O'Bannon scanned the shelves, looking for any books he thought might be interesting, and that didn't cost a lot.

_Flying With The Cannons. _Why the hell would he want to read about one of the worst Quidditch teams in England?

_Twelve Fail-Safe Ways To Charm Witches by Franklin Filibuster. _He rolled his eyes. He'd already charmed the most gorgeous witch in the world _without_ this book.

_An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe. _He would have found that book interesting, if his name had been Hermione Granger.

O'Bannon then came upon a bargain table. His eyes bulged when he saw the prices for the books. One Knut!

_Jeez, just give 'em away, why don't you?_

He strode up to the table, looked at the covers . . . and scowled.

_Oh. No wonder they're so cheap._

His lip curled as he read the titles. _Holidays with Hags. Break with a Banshee. Magical Me._

All by Gilderoy Lockhart.

O'Bannon snorted. Lockhart had been the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher two years before he came to Hogwarts. His friends told him all sorts of stories about the man, none of them complimentary – except for a couple of girls who thought he had a very nice smile. Lockhart had ultimately been proven a fraud and wound up obliviating his own memory during the Chamber of Secrets incident when a spell meant for Harry Potter and Ron Weasley backfired. That alone was reason enough not to put a single Knut in that jagoff's pocket. Then again, last he heard Lockhart still resided at St. Mungo's Hospital with no idea of his true identity. The guy couldn't hurt anyone any more.

And the books only cost a Knut each.

And they might be good for a laugh.

O'Bannon got _Magical Me _and _Holidays with Hags _and proceeded to the front counter. He slowed as he noticed a display table featuring a cardboard cutout of an angular-faced witch draped in a cloak and sporting a rather evil smile. When her lips moved, flashing words tumbled out of her mouth, lingered for a few seconds in the air, then faded.

_The Scandalous Sorceress. Latest Edition._

He shook his head. It had to be some stupid wizarding tabloid.

Three witches stood around the table, reading their copies with intense looks. Two were portly and middle-age. The third was slender with a round face and short, curled blond hair. She seemed to be around O'Bannon's age. He studied the girl's face, wondering if he might recognize her from his year at Hogwarts.

He didn't.

The girl suddenly looked up, catching him staring at her. He snapped his head away and started toward the counter.

"Oi! It's him!"

Brow furrowed, O'Bannon turned back around. The young witch pointed at him, eyes wide. The two middle-age witches gaped at him.

"It is," said the young witch, still pointing. "That's Jimmy O'Bannon."

Face scrunched in bewilderment, he walked over to her. "Do I know you?"

"I doubt it, since I wouldn't have helped make you famous."

He blinked in confusion. What the hell did she mean by that?

"My name's Iona Ellsbury. I was a Hufflepuff, a year behind you when you were at Hogwarts."

"Okay?" He couldn't remember ever meeting an Iona Ellsbury at Hogwarts, and had no clue why she'd be so hostile toward him.

He also had no idea why the two older witches now glared at him.

"Um, look," he said. "I don't know what I did at Hogwarts to make you so pissed at me."

"You should be ashamed of yourself, young man," one of the older witches snapped at him. "Ashamed!"

"Ashamed of what?"

"As if you don't know." The second witch sounded taken aback.

"Jimmy?"

He peered around the two older witches and saw Mireet walking toward him, a perplexed look on her face. "Is there a problem?"

He snorted and shrugged. "I have no idea."

One of the older witches huffed in exasperation. "Merlin's beard, the arrogance. No matter, the truth is out about you." She shook her copy of _The Scandalous Sorceress _in front of him.

"See for yourself." The other older witch thrust her copy of the tabloid into O'Bannon's hand.

He gave her a half-confused, half-irritated look. After taking a slow breath, he tucked his Gilderoy Lockhart books under his arm and held the tabloid in front of him. Mireet sidled up beside him.

_What the hell? _His eyes widened when he saw a moving black-and-white photograph of himself on the front page, decked out in the Triad hockey jersey he wore five years ago at Hogwarts.

_Why would I be on the front page of this thing?_

He scanned the headline above the photograph.

YANK RETURNS TO BRITAIN SEEKING FORGIVENESS . . . OR FAME?

"What does that mean?" Mireet nodded to the headline.

O'Bannon shrugged. "You got me."

He started reading the article, Mireet looking over his shoulder at it.

_The exploits of American-born wizard Jimmy O'Bannon are well known to the citizens of Wizarding Britain. A Muggle-born of mediocre magical ability, fortune somehow smiled on him and granted him the privilege of attending Hogwarts School for one year. While there, he organized a hockey match, the first time a Muggle sport had ever been played at the world's most renowned school of wizardry. After graduating from America's Salem Witches Institute, which has been described by some as a fifth-rate version of Hogwarts, he joined the war effort against Lord Voldemort and received medals and praise from both the American and British Wizarding governments._

_Some would call him a hero. Some would call him a pioneer in Wizard-Muggle relations. The truth, however, is far different._

_Jimmy O'Bannon is obsessed with fame and attention._

He drew his head back at that last line. _What the hell are they talking about?_

He read on.

_O'Bannon attended Hogwarts at the time of the last Tri-Wizard Tournament five years ago. When he saw the attention paid to the four champions – the half-Veela Fleur Delacour (Weasley), famed Quidditch Seeker Viktor Krum, the late Cedric Diggory, and the so-called Chosen One Harry Potter – O'Bannon quickly became jealous. Born into a non-magical family, having to live in the shadows of much more talented witches and wizards at Salem, he desperately sought a way to become just as famous as the champions. To that end, he gathered several Hogwarts students together and put on a hockey match, knowing a Muggle sport played at a Wizarding school would surely result in the attention he craved. At first, his plan was met with resistance, as one would expect. So how did he ultimately convince so many young witches and wizards to take part in his plan to feed his insatiable ego?_

_According to sources who requested anonymity for fear of their safety, O'Bannon's tactics were, to say the least, most unpleasant. They included physical intimidation, blackmail, and the use of mindbending curses and potions._

"Lies!" Mireet spat. "How can they print such things?"

O'Bannon clenched his jaw as he continued reading.

"_He was bloody lunatic, that's for sure," said Cormac McLaggen, who tried out for O'Bannon's Triad team, only to be unceremoniously booted off. "You did something wrong, he'd yell and scream at you. He threatened to hit us with his stick, hexed us if we questioned anything he said. He also really had a thing against purebloods."_

_McLaggen also stated the real reason he felt O'Bannon wouldn't allow him on the Triad team. "It was all about him. He wanted all the attention on him. I was one of the top athletes at Hogwarts. He obviously felt threatened by me, threatened I'd take away some of that attention by my performance on the ice."_

O'Bannon shook his head and scowled. McLaggen. No surprise he'd chip in his two cents to this piece of crap story. McLaggen had not been happy he'd been cut from the Triad, but O'Bannon had seen too many teams ruined by self-absorbed buttheads who believed they were God's gift to whatever sport they played.

_McLaggen wanted to use the Triad for an ego boost, not me._

He read on.

_O'Bannon relished the notoriety that came with that hockey game. It became like an aphrodisiac to him. He wanted, needed, more fame. So he joined the war effort against Lord Voldemort. Again, his exploits in that conflict earned him the fame he desired. Of course, because much of his time during the war was spent hiding in the mountains of America with some children, ostensibly to protect them from Death Eaters, he had to embellish his war record in order to receive the accolades and headlines he needed to satiate his over-inflated ego._

_But, as they say, fame is fleeting. Such was the case with Jimmy O'Bannon. In the months after the war, his name became forgotten. Unable to find fame in the Wizarding World, he went back to his roots and sought it in the Muggle World. O'Bannon joined a professional hockey team in the American city of Ford Win. However, his quest for fame and fortune in the field of Muggle sport did not go the way he wanted. _

_O'Bannon's performance for the Ford Win team was, to put it mildly, lackluster. As one would suspect, no one wants to pay money to see a lackluster athlete._

_Since he couldn't become a famous hockey player, O'Bannon returned to the Wizarding World, only to find all his friends had turned against them, especially his friends in Great Britain._

"_I'm not gonna go through the rest of my life with them hating me," O'Bannon was overheard saying._

"What!" He turned to Mireet, who looked equally shocked. He had said something to that effect a few nights ago in their hotel room. How the hell could it have wound up in this rag?

He read on.

_Why couldn't he have his friends from Hogwarts hating him? Because their fame had not evaporated. People still talk of Harry Potter's defeat of Lord Voldemort. George Weasley is one of the most successful businessmen in Wizarding England. Lee Jordan is a successful commentator for Wizarding Wireless Network News. Angelina Johnson and Ginny Weasley are both talented players for the Holyhead Harpies Quidditch team. O'Bannon's hope is that by being in the presence of such famous people, he himself will be famous as well. Therefore, he is currently in this country seeking to make amends with the former Hogwarts students he once called friends._

_But some of those friends see through O'Bannon's deception._

"_He betrayed us. We're still mourning the friends we lost in the war, and how does he honor them? By leaving the Wizarding World to play some stupid game and forget about Fred [Weasley] and Mr. Lupin [ex-Hogwarts Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and known werewolf] and all the other people who died. He wants me to forgive him? I'll never forgive him."_

O'Bannon froze when he saw the name attached to the quote.

Angelina Johnson.

His hands crushed the edges of the tabloid. He ran his eyes over the name, hoping it would change.

It didn't.

_How could she . . . she couldn't. She wouldn't. Ang is my friend._

_No, she _was _your friend._

"I do not believe it," Mireet said in a hushed tone. "Why would she say those things? Why would she let it be printed in this . . . this piece of garbage?"

O'Bannon didn't answer, feeling a cold knife of betrayal dig into his gut.

Eyes narrowed, he read on.

_If Miss Johnson feels this strongly about Jimmy O'Bannon, one can only imagine the intense hatred felt by George Weasley toward him. Weasley had considered O'Bannon to be a best friend, though now that rumors abound of a confrontation between the two at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes when O'Bannon sought his forgiveness, it is safe to say that friendship is over. Not that the scheming O'Bannon feels that way, as he has been overheard to say that he will find a way to "take advantage" of George's grief. One can only imagine what he meant by that. Whatever it is, it obviously cannot bode well for George Weasley._

O'Bannon felt the boiling blood rush to his face. His head trembled in fury. _"Take advantage."_ He had said that, though not in the nefarious way this lying bastard "reporter" meant it.

_How? How could they know?_ He had only told those things to Mireet, in the privacy of their room. A wave of cold swept through his insides. Was someone spying on him? Hoping to pick up a few words he or she could take out of context and put in this rag?

And what about George? Would he believe this? He couldn't. This thing was a piece of crap tabloid that peddled lies. George would have to know that.

_Or maybe he'll just believe it because he's so pissed off at me._

His nostrils flared. This stupid, slimebucket of a reporter may have ruined any chance he had of patching things up with George.

_Who wrote this? Who!_

He looked back at the beginning of the article and found the byline.

Rage burned white hot inside him when he recognized the name.

**Rita Skeeter: Owner and Editor-in-Chief, The Scandalous Sorceress**

"That bitch!" O'Bannon growled through clenched teeth.

"You should be ashamed of yourself," said one of the older witches.

O'Bannon glared at her. "Screw you, lady."

He spun around and stomped off. The witch who'd thrust the tabloid in his hands shouted at him to give it back. He ignored her.

"Jimmy? Jimmy." Mireet took off after him.

Out the corner of his eye, he spotted Mireet's parents and sister.

"Jimmy? Are you all right?" Mrs. Miradeaux asked.

He didn't answer. Instead he marched up to the counter, manned by a chubby young wizard with brown hair.

"Ready to -"

"Where is this place!" O'Bannon hollered in the wizard's face.

The color drained from the young man's face. He stammered, "I . . . I . . . sorry, what?"

"This friggin' piece of crap rag! Where is it? What's the address? What is it!"

The wizard behind the counter backed away, eyes wide with fear. "It . . . It should be on the back, there. On the back."

O'Bannon turned the tabloid around and spotted a small box at the bottom of the page.

GOT A TANTALIZING TIDBIT OF INFORMATION, TRUE OR OTHERWISE? SEND IT TO THE SCANDALOUS SORCERESS, ATTN: RITA SKEETER, NUMBER 307 DIAGON ALLEY.

Face twisted in rage, he stomped out the front door, still clutching the tabloid.

"'ere, Sir. You've got to pay for that."

He ignored the wizard behind the counter, ignored the shouts of the Miradeauxes. He marched into the middle of the street when he spotted Mireet out the corner of his eye.

"Jimmy? Jimmy, what are you doing?"

He spun around to face her. "I'm gonna go see that bitch Rita Skeeter, take this piece of crap magazine of hers, and shove it up her fat, wrinkled ass!"

Before Mireet could say anything, O'Bannon Apparated.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	21. The Savior

**CHAPTER 21: THE SAVIOR**

* * *

Bright glares flashed in O'Bannon's eyes as he Disapparated. He blinked a few times until the building in front of him took shape. It was dark red with silver trim and encrusted with rows of what looked like shiny diamonds. A huge picture hung above the door of a heavy-jawed woman with curled, bright blond hair and wearing a yellow robe with glittering sequins. He crushed the tabloid in his hand as he glared at the image of Rita Skeeter.

He'd been on the receiving end of her poison pen before at Hogwarts. The hag had written a couple of unflattering pieces about him and his reasons for organizing the Triad/Slytherin hockey game. But that stuff he and his friends had been able to laugh off.

Not this. Lying about what he did in the war, lying about his motivation for reconciling with his friends, taking his words out of context regarding George, sabotaging his attempts to patch things up with him. The bitch had no right to do any of that.

O'Bannon started toward the door when he heard a _crack _behind him. He whipped his head around and saw Mireet.

"Don't even try to talk me out of this, Mireet."

"I have no intention of doing so." Her eyes narrowed and her lips compressed into a thin red line.

He could tell she was just as pissed as he was.

Giving her a brief nod, he stomped up to the door and pushed it open. A horseshoe-shaped desk sat a few feet away. Behind it was a hefty young witch with short dark hair and an eternal pout on her fleshy face.

"Where's Rita Skeeter!" he shouted.

"Who wants to know?" The witch snapped at him.

O'Bannon opened his mouth to respond, then froze. His eyes widened in recognition. "Aw, no friggin' way."

Of all the people who could have been Rita Skeeter's receptionist, he never imagined it would be Millicent Bulstrode. She had been one of Draco Malfoy's sycophants at Hogwarts, and had also taken part in the Triad/Slytherin hockey game five years ago.

"Jimmy O'Bannon." She tried to give him an evil grin, but it wound up looking like a scowl. "I guess you didn't enjoy Ms. Skeeter's little story about you."

"It was atrocious." Mireet stomped up to the desk. "It was nothing but lies."

"Oh look." Millicent sneered. "You brought the tall French tart with you."

O'Bannon clenched his fists until they shook. He so wanted to hex this cow, was seriously considering it, when Mireet asked in a low, ominous tone, "Where is Rita Skeeter?"

Millicent hesitated. "She's not in."

"Bullcrap!" He lunged forward, his twisted face inches from Millicent's. The witch didn't budge. "You think she can print this crap about me and get away with it? I want to see her and I want to see her now!"

"You can't. As I said, she's not in."

"I don't believe you."

"That's not my problem."

"Where is she!" O'Bannon bared his teeth.

"She's out."

"Where?"

Millicent bit her lip. Her eyes flickered in all directions, except his. "Um . . . she's out, getting an interview."

"Bullcrap." He looked at the twisting staircase to his left. "Is her office up there?"

Millicent didn't answer.

"Thanks." He headed toward the stairs, Mireet right behind him.

"Stop!" Millicent ordered. "You can't go up there. I said stop!"

She dug into her robes for her wand.

O'Bannon quickly yanked out his wand. "_Expelliarmus!"_

Fueled by his anger, the spell not only shot Millicent's wand across the lobby, it also spun her around. She lost her balance and landed hard on the floor.

Giving a satisfactory grunt, O'Bannon pounded up the stairs and onto the second floor. At the end of the hall was a large, ornate oak door with a polished brass knob. Gleaming rubies made up the words RITA SKEETER'S OFFICE – KNOCK BEFORE ENTERING.

_Oh, I'll knock all right._

He marched up to Skeeter's door. Sucking down a breath, he raised his foot and kicked out. The door flew open with a horrendous crash. He heard a feminine yelp. A tea cup flew from the hand of the middle-age witch, spilling light brown liquid across the desk she sat behind.

"What's the meaning of -" Rita Skeeter cut herself off as O'Bannon stomped up to her desk. Instead of looking frightened, she put on a sickeningly sweet smile. "Well, well, well. Look who it is. The famous Jim-"

"Shut up, you slimy hag!" He slammed his mangled copy of _The Scandalous Sorceress _on her desk. "Where the hell do you get off printing this crap about me?"

Skeeter's eyes sparkled. "Oh, you saw my article. I must say I'm quite proud of -"

"Don't screw with me!" He banged a fist on the desk, causing Skeeter to flinch. "You have no right to do this!"

"On the contrary, Mister O'Bannon, I do. Because of that hockey game and your war record, you are a public figure, whether you like it or not."

"This is all personal stuff." He stabbed his finger into the crumpled up tabloid. "It's no one else's business."

"Really?" Skeeter feigned shock. It took all that remained of O'Bannon's self-control to not slap that look off her fat, ugly face.

She continued. "If it is no one's business, then why hold conversations with your friends in public places, like a pub? Specifically, The Leaky Cauldron."

O'Bannon's brow furrowed. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh, a certain incident between your girlfriend," Skeeter nodded to Mireet, "and one Lee Jordan some weeks ago. All the patrons had a front row seat for his little outburst, including a certain employee of mine. Someone I assume you met on the way up here."

O'Bannon's eyes widened. "Bulstrode?"

"Oh yes." Skeeter leaned back in her seat, grinning. "As soon as Mister Jordan was done with his tirade, Millicent snuck out the back and came right to me with all the juicy details."

"Merlin's beard," Mireet whispered. "I remember. There was a witch I noticed exiting the back of The Leaky Cauldron. So it was Millicent."

"I tried to get a quote from Mister Jordan, but he brushed me off, and rather rudely at that." The grin on Skeeter's face widened. "But Angelina Johnson was most anxious to tell me in great detail how much she dislikes you. It just added to the overall liveliness of the article."

"Liveliness?" Incredulity crossed O'Bannon's face. "It was one big lie!"

"Perhaps it was, perhaps it wasn't. What does it matter, so long as it sells copies?"

"It matters to me!" He jabbed himself in the chest with his thumb.

"Mireet. Jimmy. What is going on here?"

O'Bannon froze in shock for a moment. He then turned around. His eyes widened when he noticed Mr. and Mrs. Miradeaux and Monique standing in the open doorway.

_So they followed me here, too. Terrific._

He took a few breaths, trying to calm himself. He turned back to Skeeter, his voice softer, but no less menacing. "Now you listen to me. You are going to print a retraction to this story. You're gonna tell everyone that everything you wrote about me is a lie, and you're going to leave me and Mireet alone. Got it?"

Skeeter chuckled softly. "Oh Mister O'Bannon. You must realize that with fame comes a price. Those who seek the accolades of the public must also endure the slings and arrows of people like me. Perhaps you should have considered that before you tried to pursue a life of fame and fortune."

"I didn't do what I did to become famous!"

"Oh please. Being around Harry Potter for a year, hearing about all his exploits, it's only natural that you'd want to experience some of that fame for yourself. And given the fact you signed on to fight Lord Voldemort before you even graduated from Salem, one can only assume you couldn't wait for your chance to become a war hero yourself and get medals and -"

"Shut up!" O'Bannon swept his arm across the desk. Quills, ink bottles, parchment and various other items flew through the air and onto the floor. "Shut your friggin' mouth! You don't know shit, you stupid bitch! I didn't fight because I wanted to be famous. I fought because I didn't want a psycho dark wizard ruling the world! What did you do during the war, huh? You just sat on your fat ass, peddling a book that smeared Albus Dumbledore, while other witches and wizards were out there fighting and dying, including friends of mine!"

Skeeter sighed, an annoyed expression showing through the heavy make-up on her face. "Mister O'Bannon, I have been more than generous in allowing you your little tantrum. But if you insist on doing damage to my office, then I'm afraid I must ask you to leave immediately."

"Leave? You want me to leave?" O'Bannon shook his head. "Oh no, it doesn't work that way. You don't get to say crap about me then kick me out of here."

Skeeter's eyes narrowed behind her red, horn-rimmed glasses. "Now see here. This is my building. I own it, and if I tell you to leave, then. . . you . . . will . . . leave."

"I'm not going anywhere until you agree to print a retraction."

"Well that's not going to happen. That's how life is when you're famous, so deal with it."

"You are a despicable woman!" Mireet lunged toward Skeeter's desk. "Why must you print lies about people? What has Jimmy ever done to you to deserve your scorn? Is your life so empty and pathetic that the only thing that brings you joy is trying to ruin the lives of witches and wizards better than you?"

Skeeter tilted her head and gave Mireet a dubious look. "And do you truly believe you're better than me, dear? Given your past that's saying something."

"Just what are you insinuating about my daughter?" Mrs. Miradeaux glared at Skeeter.

"Oh come now, Mrs. Miradeaux, don't play the innocent with me." Skeeter gave Mireet's mother a knowing grin. "Surely you remember a dashing young Frenchman named Marc-Andre Groleau."

O'Bannon drew his head back. Why was Skeeter bringing up Mireet's ex-boyfriend?

"How do you know of Marc-Andre?" Mireet tensed.

"Oh, I have my sources in your country. The Groleaus are a very influential family in Wizarding France, are they not?"

"_Oui,"_ Mrs. Miradeaux replied in a cautious tone.

"Yet here you lot are. The Miradeauxes, a somewhat old, but only moderately successful, pureblood family. So imagine how little – well, perhaps not so little – Mireet must have felt when a handsome young wizard from a well-to-do family paid her some attention." Skeeter's eyes locked on Mireet. "You were so desperate to be part of a family of great importance. And with your looks, it was easy to seduce Marc-Andre, make him fall in love with you, hoping to leech on to some of his family's wealth and power."

"That is a lie!" Mireet scowled. "I truly did love Marc-Andre. He broke up with me -"

"Yes!" Skeeter cut her off. "He broke up with you because he saw through your façade. Saw what a power-hungry temptress you were."

"How dare you!" Mr. Miradeaux charged at Skeeter, his face blazing red. "How dare you insult my daughter like that! Marc-Andre Groleau was an elitist bastard who broke Mireet's heart because he found her mother's interest in Muggle things unseemly!"

"Oh, quite brave you are against a simple reporter, Mr. Miradeaux. Where was that bravery all those years ago during the first Big War, when that giant attacked the market place you and your family was visiting, and you cowered in terror and let your young son be killed -"

The room erupted in shouts, some in English, some in French. Wands came out. Rita Skeeter backed up against the wall, hands crossed in front of her face.

"Nobody move!"

Silence suddenly blanketed the room. O'Bannon looked over his shoulder. Two wizards stood in the doorway, one stout and bearded, the other paunchy with receding brown hair. He noticed the wand and shield emblem on the left breast of their robes.

They were aurors.

**XXXXX**

O'Bannon glared at the thick iron bars of the cell in one of the sub-levels of the Ministry of Magic and shook his head. "I can't believe this is the second time in the last six months I've been arrested."

"You were not the only one who was arrested."

He sighed and turned around. Monique stood a few feet away, arms folded, her burning eyes aimed at him.

He shifted his gaze to the floor. The five of them had been in this cell for, what? It had to be over an hour. Maybe two? The aurors, whom Bulstrode no doubt contacted after she recovered from O'Bannon's spell, had relieved all of them of their watches, as well as their wands and everything in their pockets. Guilt squeezed his insides. He glanced over at Mr. and Mrs. Miradeaux and suddenly wanted to shrink away into a deep hole. He'd been getting along with them so well these past few days. Now in one instant, he likely destroyed all that good will.

_A guy who runs away from the Wizarding World, becomes an alcoholic, and gets them all thrown in jail. Oh yeah, they must think I'm the best boyfriend Mireet could ever have._

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I didn't mean to get all you guys in trouble, too."

"And you think saying you're sorry is going to make things better?" Monique drew a slow, deliberate breath before she continued. "My parents are officials with our Ministry of Magic. Now their jobs could be in jeopardy. It is even possible their imprisonment could become an international incident. And it is all your fault."

O'Bannon's shoulders sagged. He lowered his eyes to the ground, knowing he couldn't argue that point with Monique.

"Stop blaming Jimmy," Mireet told her sister. "He had every right to be angry after what that filthy harpy Rita Skeeter said about him. And what about what she said about me, and our father?"

"It may not have gotten that far had your boyfriend not acted like a madman." Monique glared at him, then turned back to Mireet. "This man has brought nothing but trouble and heartbreak into your life from the day you met him."

"Um, hello." O'Bannon waved to Monique. "I'm still in the room, here."

She ignored him, her attention focused on Mireet. "You should have heeded my advice long ago and simply forgot about this American the moment you left Hogwarts."

Mireet's eyes narrowed at her sister. "Were it up to you, you would lock me in some tower away from any man for the rest of my life."

"Forgive me if I only want to protect you from being hurt again."

"You are trying to protect me from being happy."

"And are you happy now? Look around you." Monique swung her arm around. "You are in a jail cell, all because of this idiot American."

"All right, that's it." O'Bannon's foot slammed down on the stone floor as he stepped toward Monique. "You've been dumping on me since you first set foot in this country, and I've had it. I'm sorry I haven't been the perfect boyfriend for your sister, but I'm doing the best that I can."

"And look where your best has landed us. In a jail cell. My family would be better off with you out of our lives."

"And maybe I would be better off without _you_ in my life." Anger lines etched deeply in Mireet's face as she glared at her sister.

Monique's cheeks reddened. She opened her mouth to respond.

"Enough! All of you!" Mrs. Miradeaux's voice echoed through the cell. She fixed a harsh stare on all three of them. "This situation is bad enough without you three yelling at one another."

Monique scowled at her mother and snorted. Both O'Bannon and Mireet did their best to avoid Mrs. Miradeaux's harsh gaze.

A minute of silence passed before Monique huffed and strode to the other side the cell. O'Bannon and Mireet sat on the old, chipped wooden bench attached to the stone wall and held hands. Mrs. Miradeaux kept a watchful eye on them. Mr. Miradeaux leaned against the wall in the corner of the cell, brooding. _Probably thinking of what Skeeter said about him and his son, _O'Bannon thought, shaking his head in disgust. _That bitch._

No one talked much for the next . . . well, however much time passed. O'Bannon just sat on the bench lost in his own thoughts. He ran down the list of charges against him. Assault. Trespassing. Threat of violence. What sort of punishment was he looking at? What about Mireet and her family? Dammit, why did they have to follow him to Skeeter's office? Why didn't he tell them all to go away and let him handle it?

He heard the door leading to the cell block open. The five of them walked over to the bars. O'Bannon watched as the bearded auror, Gillencrest, strode up to their cell. His stomach collapsed into a bottomless pit. Was this where they learned their fate?

"Well, you lot certainly are lucky," Gillencrest said. "Got friends in high places, don't you?"

O'Bannon cranked an eyebrow as Gillencrest swished his wand. The cell door opened.

"You're all free to go, all charges dropped."

He almost staggered from the shock. He couldn't talk, couldn't even blink.

"You are serious?" Monique gaped at the auror.

"Quite, Miss. Your belongings are waiting outside. If you'll follow me."

O'Bannon hesitated. This just couldn't be. They were free? All charges dropped? Just like that?

He forced himself to step forward and exit the cell, followed by the others. Gillencrest led them out of the cell block and to a storage closet, the inside of which was pitch black. He used a Summoning Charm to retrieve everyone's things. The group then took the elevator to the Aurors Office. O'Bannon mulled over Gillencrest's words. _"Friends in high places." _Who could he be talking about? Mr. or Mrs. Infante? Did the American Secretary of Magic and Director of the US Aurors Bureau already know about his arrest? A surge of relief was soon replaced by a sense of unease. Mrs. Infante had already got him out of one jail, a Muggle one in Fort Wayne a few months ago. He could only imagine the earful he'd get from her over this incident when he returned to The States.

The elevator jerked to a halt. They stepped out into a lobby with some chairs, couches and brightly colored potted plants, one of which softly hummed something that reminded O'Bannon of Muggle easy listening music. A statue floated above, a group of stone aurors, wands at the ready, surrounding a rotating globe of the Earth.

"Here they are, Sir." Gillencrest stepped aside.

O'Bannon's eyes widened at the sight of the young man before him. Behind him, he heard awed whispers in French from both Mr. and Mrs. Miradeaux.

"Hello, Jimmy. Mireet," said none other than Harry Potter.

"Harry?" O'Bannon's face scrunched in astonishment. "You sprang us out of jail?"

"That's right."

"Why?"

Harry's brow furrowed. He stared at O'Bannon like he'd just asked the stupidest question in the world. It took a few moments for him to regain his composure. "Well I couldn't let you guys just sit there in a jail cell, could I?"

"I . . . er, thanks, man." He scanned Harry's face for any sense of anger, of resentment, of betrayal, like he'd gotten from George and the other Gryffindors.

There was none

"Yes, thank you very much, Harry." Mireet strode up to the savior of the Wizarding World - and their own personal savior - and kissed him on both cheeks.

"_Oui. _Thank you ever so much, _Monsieur _Potter," Mrs. Miradeaux said in an awed tone. "My family and I owe you much."

"That's all right." Harry smiled at her. "I was glad to do it."

"How did you know we had been arrested?" Mireet asked.

"Well, when the Aurors Office found out who you two were," Harry's eyes flickered between O'Bannon and Mireet, "they immediately alerted the Minister of Magic's office. I mean, it is a big deal when two decorated war heroes like yourselves get arrested."

O'Bannon winced at being called a war hero.

Harry continued. "When Minister Shacklebolt heard that you got into it with Rita Skeeter, he contacted me, since I knew you both and had my own . . . dealings with Skeeter. I read her article about you and saw your quotes. I knew Skeeter took them out of context, and had an idea how she got them from you. Tell me, Jimmy. Did you happen to see any bugs crawling around the inn you and Mireet are staying at?"

"Yeah, a few times. Of course, it's not the fanciest place in the world, so . . ." His voice trailed off as the realization hit him. He thought back five years ago, the return trip on the Hogwarts Express. He'd walked into the compartment shared by Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred and George just as the bushy-haired witch showed the twins a glass jar with a beetle inside. She had told them the insect was in fact Rita Skeeter in her unregistered Animagus form, which she used to sneak onto Hogwarts grounds and eavesdrop on people.

"Son-of-a-bitch." His face tightened in anger. "She was sneaking around our hotel as a bug the whole time."

O'Bannon's headed trembled in rage. He wanted to scream and hit something. How many times had Skeeter been in their room when he and Mireet spoke to one another in confidence? Had she watched when Mireet cried into his shoulder after the fight with her sister? Had she spied on them when they were being intimate?

"I figured as much." Harry's voice cut through O'Bannon's red haze of anger. "When I confronted Skeeter about it, I told her she was going to have to make a deal unless she wanted me to bring her in as an unregistered Animagus. Since she wasn't too keen on going to jail, she agreed to print a retraction to her story in her next issue of _The Scandalous Sorceress, _which I told her I'd better see on sale by noon tomorrow. She also agreed to leave you alone during the rest of your stay in Britain, and to drop all charges against you."

O'Bannon let out a breath of relief, as did Mrs. Miradeaux.

"_Merci, Monsieur_ Potter," she added. "You are indeed a great and kind wizard."

Harry's cheeks reddened in embarrassment. "Uh, thanks."

"Hey, man. Thanks. Thank you, big time." O'Bannon clasped Harry's hand and shook it. "I owe you."

"No problem, Jimmy. But . . . um, well, there are some conditions to this deal on your end."

His cheek twitched. "Okay? What are we talking about here?"

Harry shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Well, first off, you have to pay for the damage you did to Rita Skeeter's door."

"All right." Much as he detested the idea of doing anything for Skeeter's benefit, it was a small price to pay for staying out of jail.

"And . . . um, well, you need to apologize to Millicent Bulstrode for knocking her down with that Disarming Spell."

The corners of O'Bannon's mouth twisted. Apologize to a stinking Slytherin? Especially one as unpleasant as Millicent Bulstrode? The mere thought of it made him want to spit. _I'd rather lick a Blast-Ended Skrewt's ass than apologize to any Slytherin._

"Jimmy, I'm sorry," Harry said. "But it's part of the deal."

He sighed loudly. Scowling, he gave Harry a sharp nod. "Fine. I'll do it." _But with my fingers crossed._

Harry gave him a sympathetic smile. O'Bannon figured if the situation had been reversed, Harry would be just as revolted as him.

"Well, now that everything's settled, why don't I see you all back to Diagon Alley?"

The five showered him with more "thank yous." Mrs. Miradeaux even kissed Harry's cheeks. Before he got to the door leading out of the Aurors Office, O'Bannon called out, "Harry."

He stopped and turned around, "Yeah, Jimmy."

O'Bannon slowly worked his jaw back and forth. "Um . . . uh . . . why?"

A quizzical look came over Harry's face. "Why what?"

"Why did you help us out? Help me out?"

"Why wouldn't I? You're my friend."

O'Bannon scoffed. "Seriously? After everything I did, you can still call me that?"

Harry frowned. "Yeah, I heard what happened with you and Ron and George at the shop the other week."

"They were ready to hex the living hell out of me. I could see it in their eyes. They hated me. And why shouldn't they? I left the Wizarding World and tried to forget about Fred. After everything he did for me at Hogwarts, I tried to put him out of my mind forever. So yeah, I fully expect the whole Weasley family to be pissed at me. But you're not? I mean, you're practically a Weasley. So how come you're not sitting somewhere, smiling and saying, 'let O'Bannon rot in that cell?'"

Harry sighed, staring at the floor. Shoulders slumped, he shuffled closer to O'Bannon. "If I felt that way toward you, I think that would make me a hypocrite."

A perplexed look came over O'Bannon's face. "What are you talking about?"

"You think I never had any thoughts about leaving the Wizarding World? I couldn't stop thinking of all the people I cared about who died, died for _me._ Sirius, Dumbledore, Professor Moody, Professor Lupin, Tonks, Dobby . . . Fred. When I was staying at The Burrow after the war, every time I saw Mr. and Mrs. Weasley or Ginny or Ron or any of them, I couldn't help but think they blamed me for Fred's death. And why shouldn't they? I blamed myself. I still blame myself. I can't tell you how many times I thought they'd be better off if I just left."

"But you didn't," O'Bannon said. "You stayed, and you have more right to up and leave this world than anyone. I mean, I never lost my parents when I was a baby. I never had some dark wizard gunnin' for me since I was in diapers. I never had to live with an aunt and uncle who were total rat bastards. I never had an entire government try to shut me up. I never had the fate of the whole friggin' world on my shoulders. Despite all that, you stayed. I was the one who left."

"And you think I should hate you because of that? Everyone suffered during the war, and everyone dealt with it in different ways. Jimmy, Fred was one of your best mates, and Tonks . . . I know how much she meant to you. And all your other friends you lost back in America. Sure, you left. But you came back, and somehow I doubt you forgot about everyone here when you were back in the Muggle World."

"No, I didn't."

"Then as far as I'm concerned, I have no reason to hate you."

O'Bannon's chest tightened. A grateful feeling spread through his insides.

Then he closed his eyes, suddenly feeling stupid. _Harry. Why didn't I think to go to him first?_ He knew the answer. He assumed, given Harry's closeness to the Weasleys, that The-Boy-Who-Lived would be just as pissed off at him as George. But hadn't Harry forgiven Snape for the way he treated him at Hogwarts after learning everything he'd done to combat Voldemort? Hadn't he saved Draco Malfoy, Draco Friggin' Malfoy, for Merlin's sake, from being killed by Fiendfyre? If Harry could do that, then why wouldn't he forgive someone like him?

"Thanks, Harry. I really appreciate it." He stuck out his hand. Harry smiled and shook it.

"You're welcome, Jimmy."

"I wish things with George could go this easy."

"If you want, I could talk to him." Harry looked from O'Bannon to Mireet. "Maybe we can all talk to him."

"I think that is a good idea," Mireet said.

O'Bannon looked to her, then back to Harry, and nodded. "Ditto here."

"Brilliant. So when do you want to do this?"

A determined look came over O'Bannon's face. "Now's as good a time as any."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	22. Provocation

**CHAPTER 22: PROVOCATION**

* * *

Jimmy O'Bannon's stomach twisted in knots as he stood in front of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. He barely heard the cracks of the others Disapparating around him, his attention focused on the shop. Fear filled him. Fear of failure. Fear that this would be his last shot to patch things up with George.

_I will not fail. I will not fail._

He closed his eyes and shook off that thought. "Fail" was a negative word. He could not afford any negative thoughts here.

_I will succeed. I will succeed._

O'Bannon looked behind him at Harry, Mireet and her family. His focus settled on Mr. and Mrs. Miradeaux.

"Um, you know you guys don't have to be here. This whole thing is really between me . . ." He glanced at Mireet and Harry. "Well, us and George."

"That may be true," Mrs. Miradeaux said. "But this seems the sort of situation where you need all the support you can get. And now that you are a part of Mireet's life, we shall be here to give you that support."

O'Bannon's chest tightened. He just stared at Mrs. Miradeaux, surprise and elation bursting inside him. Even after they all wound up in jail because of him, Mireet's mother still liked him. More than that. She seemed to regard him as part of the family.

"Thanks, Mrs. Miradeaux. I really appreciate it."

A snort reached his ears. He glanced left and saw Monique with an exasperated look on her face. "If he does not think we belong here, then I shall go back to our hotel."

Mrs. Miradeaux's face scrunched in anger. "Monique, stop be-"

Monique Apparated before her mother could finish her sentence.

Mrs. Miradeaux's eyes bulged. Her shoulders rose and fell with slow, angry breaths. Mr. Miradeaux's face sagged in disappointment. Mireet's eyes narrowed on the spot her sister stood just seconds before.

Monique's sudden departure, however, did not faze O'Bannon much. _Good riddance. _For something like this, he didn't need Monique's crappy attitude dragging everyone down.

Harry cleared his throat, gazing around at everyone, the veins in his neck sticking out.

"Um . . . so, shall we?" He nodded to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

O'Bannon also turned toward the shop. He held his breath, wanting to go in, yet wanting to stay here at the same time.

Several seconds passed before he nodded and started toward the shop. The flashing, colorful, noisy products displayed in the window faded to the periphery of his vision. Seeing George dominated his mind.

He slowed as he neared the door, wondering if George had put wards around the building to keep him out. When no alarms went off, when no invisible force flung him across the street, he breathed a sigh of relief.

O'Bannon put his hand on the door, tensed, then pushed it open.

Several customers were in the shop, most of them teens or younger. He searched for any sign of George, but found none.

Harry walked past him, his head on a swivel, probably also searching for George, or Ron. O'Bannon and others followed.

"Verity," Harry called out to a short, blonde witch in magenta robes. O'Bannon recognized her from his last visit here.

"Mister Potter." Surprise flashed across Verity's pretty face. A second later it changed to worry when she saw him. It took a few moments for the young witch to regain her composure and continue with Harry. "Um, what brings you here today?"

"I need to see George. Is he in?"

Verity glanced at O'Bannon, bit her lip, then looked back at Harry. "Um . . . yes. He's in the back."

"Thanks. No, that's all right. I can find my own way."

Verity's worried look became more pronounced. She visibly swallowed. "Um, well . . . um, okay."

Harry thanked her again and started toward the curtain behind the counter. O'Bannon caught up with him and checked to make sure Mireet and her parents were out of earshot.

"Harry." He leaned in close, keeping his voice down. "I just want you to know that if you can't talk George to patching things up between us, I got a back up plan."

"What is it?"

O'Bannon pressed his lips together for a moment. "Um . . . well, let's just say it's something pretty drastic, and it won't be very nice."

"You're not honestly thinking of doing something to George, are you?"

"No, I promise you I won't do anything to him. But George might wind up doing things to me."

A perplexed look came over Harry's face as they passed through the curtain.

O'Bannon glanced back at Mireet and her parents, who were about to pass through the curtain. He lowered his voice even more.

"Look, Harry, I want your word. If I have to do this my way, no matter what George does, do not interfere. And more importantly, don't let Mireet or her parents interfere."

"Jimmy, I don't -"

"Harry, trust me on this, okay? Now give me your word."

Harry sighed, his jaw working back and forth. Finally he nodded. "Okay. You have my word."

O'Bannon smiled and slapped Harry on the shoulder. When he turned around, he spotted George and Ron levitating Skiving Snackboxes from the top shelf with their wands. Tension snaked around his insides as they approached the two redheads.

George lowered the last box to the floor when he turned toward them. "Harry? What are -" He stopped when he noticed O'Bannon. His expression changed instantly. Anger lines dug into his narrow face. His cheeks blazed a deeper shade of red than his hair.

"What are you doing here with him?" George's gaze locked on O'Bannon. "Didn't I tell you I don't want you in my shop, or in my life, period?"

"George, wait." Harry held up both hands. "Just listen, all right?"

"Listen to what? Oh Merlin's beard, are you going to try and convince me I should forgive this selfish prick?"

"George, he really is sorry."

"That makes up for it then, does it? Makes up for running out on us, wanting to forget Fred, just because it's hard to deal with. What the hell do you know about how hard it is to lose a brother? A twin!" George bared his teeth at O'Bannon.

"Different people dealt with the war in different ways."

"Unbelievable." George shook his head. "That's always been your problem, Potter. You're too damn forgiving. You forgave Snape despite all the hell he put you through at Hogwarts. You forgave the Malfoys, even saved their ferrety bastard of a son's worthless skin. You even spared Peter Pettigrew, the man who betrayed your parents to bloody effing Voldemort!"

The skin around Harry's mouth crinkled. O'Bannon could tell The-Boy-Who-Lived was holding back a torrent of anger.

"C'mon, Harry," Ron chimed in. "Bringing him here, trying to make us forget about what he did. This is too much even for you."

"You think I'm too forgiving?" An edge crept into Harry's voice. "Maybe I am. But there's a big difference between Jimmy and all those others you mentioned. None of us were ever friends with Snape or Malfoy or Pettigrew. But we were friends with Jimmy. And how about the fact Jimmy saved all of us? Twice! Doesn't that count for something?"

Neither George nor Ron said anything.

Hope swelled inside O'Bannon.

George stared at the far wall, taking slow, deep breaths.

_C'mon, George. Please._

Several long seconds passed before George turned back to them, the anger still evident on his face. "You think it's that easy, Harry? After everything Fred and I did for him, and he turns his back on us? Treats Fred like he was nothing. No! Treats Fred like he was an inconvenience. 'Fred's dead. I can't get over it and get on with my life.' Well join the bloody club!"

"George, please -"

"No, Harry! Forget it." George slashed his right arm in front of him. "Maybe there are some things you can forgive, but I can't."

"George . . ."

"Out! Now!"

O'Bannon's jaw clenched. He glanced over at Harry, a defeated look on his face.

_Dammit. _For a few seconds he had dared hope that Harry's words had gotten through to George. But it was clear now that no words would get through to him.

He looked to Mr. Miradeaux, remembering what he said that day at The Three Broomsticks, about how at times you had to "force the issue."

This was now one of those times.

"O'Bannon! You deaf? I said out!"

His face stiffened. His eyes flickered to Harry. _Sorry, Harry. Good try. Now we do this my way._

"No. I'm not going anywhere."

George's eyes bulged. Ron's face turned bright crimson.

"You want me to throw you out of here?" George clenched his fists. "I'll do it. Don't think I won't."

"Then do it!" O'Bannon stomped toward him. "Go ahead! Take out your wand, do a _Levicorpus_ and chuck me out on the street!"

George glowered at him and reached into his robes.

"Or why do that? Why just throw me out of here? Why not do something more satisfying?"

George stayed his hand as O'Bannon continued. "You've been pissed off at me for a whole year. Hell, when I said I was leaving the Wizarding World, you tried to take my head off. Well here's your chance to finish the job."

"Jimmy, what are you doing?"

He ignored Mrs. Miradeaux and leaned closer to George. "I'm standing right here, man. Go ahead. Hex me. Curse me. I know you've been wanting to do this for a long time. So here's your chance. Do it!"

George glared at him, but made no attempt to take out his wand.

"C'mon, damn you!" O'Bannon backed up, arms spread to his sides. "Free shot! Do your worst!"

"Jimmy, stop!" Mrs. Miradeaux demanded. "This is madness."

Again he ignored her. "C'mon! How about a Fire Rash Hex? A Torch Tongue Curse? Turn me into man-sized maggot. How about a simple Battering Spell over and over again?"

George's shoulders slowly rose and fell. Ron said nothing, but from the look in his eyes O'Bannon could tell the younger wizard was rooting for his brother to do all those things and more.

But George still didn't go for his wand.

"Oh for piss sake." He noticed George and Ron tense when he pulled out his wand. Before anyone could make a move, he marched up to George, grabbed his hand and pushed his wand into it.

"You don't want to use your wand, then use mine." O'Bannon backed up again and spread his arms.

George stared at the wand, then at him, then at the wand. O'Bannon tensed, waiting for the barrage of hexes to hit him.

None came.

"Don't want to do it? All right, fine then." He stomped up to George, ripped the wand from his grasp and slammed it down on a nearby shelf. O'Bannon shoved his face inches from George's. "Why use a wand anyway? Why just stand back and zap me with one curse after another? Why not do it the Muggle way? With your fists. Up close and personal. Believe me, it's a lot more satisfying."

George continued to glare at him.

"C'mon, George! Here I am. The guy who went back to the Muggle World to play hockey so I could forget about your brother. Doesn't that piss you off? Fred was your brother, your best friend. And I just wanted to forget about him. Not grieve for him, not do anything to honor his memory. I wanted to act like he never existed."

"Jimmy, enough!" Mrs. Miradeaux begged.

"Please, Jimmy." Desperation coated Mireet's voice. "This has gone too far."

All his attention remained on George, who stared back at him with fiery eyes.

"Is that all you're gonna do? Stand there and glare at me? I crapped all over your brother's memory. Any _real man _would wanna beat my brains in."

George's eyes widened. His head trembled in fury.

O'Bannon clenched his jaw. _I'm sorry about this, George. I really am._

"C'mon, _Weasel!"_ He slammed an open palm into George's shoulder. "Grow a friggin' set and -"

A primal roar exploded through the room. Mireet and Mrs. Miradeaux both screamed. George grabbed O'Bannon by his robes and pushed him across the room. He crashed against the wall. Pain hammered his back.

A fist smashed into his jaw. O'Bannon's head whipped to the side.

"George!" Mireet cried out. "George, stop!"

George hit him again. Pain sliced into his jaw and spread through his entire head. His vision blurred for a moment. Still he could make out Harry standing in front of Mireet and Mrs. Miradeaux, preventing them from helping him.

_Thanks, Har-_

Another punch rattled his skull. Another. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth.

"George, please! Harry, get out of my way! George, enough!"

George punched him again. Through the haze in his skull O'Bannon realized this hit didn't have as much force as the others.

Did George actually hold back?

Groaning, he rotated his head back to his one-time best friend. George held him by the collar with one hand - probably the only thing that helped him stay on his feet. His other hand was balled in a fist, held up at eye level, shaking. In fact, George's entire body shook. O'Bannon braced himself for the next punch. Part of him _wanted _it to come. He couldn't imagine George had gotten all his anger toward him out of his system.

He turned his head and spat out a wad of blood. Mrs. Miradeaux gasped loudly.

"Enough! That is enough." Mireet sounded on the verge of tears.

Harry, to his credit, kept himself planted between George and the Miradeauxes.

O'Bannon turned back to George. "That the best you got, Weasley? In the UHL, we call those love taps."

George bared his teeth, his fist still hovering next to his head. Any second now. Any second.

The blow never came.

Cheek twitching, George closed his eyes and turned away. He let go of O'Bannon's collar and shuffled off. O'Bannon pressed his back against the wall, willing himself not to slide to the floor.

"Jimmy!" Mireet and the others rushed over to him. She gently touched his cheeks, causing him to wince. He noticed tears welling up in her eyes. Mr. and Mrs. Miradeaux stared at him with a mixture of concern and shock. Harry's expression alternated between worry and guilt.

As Mireet examined his injuries, he stared past her and spotted George. He leaned over a wooden crate, both hands pressed down on it. His entire body shook.

"Um, maybe . . . maybe we should go," Harry suggested.

"Yes. Yes, we are leaving now." Mireet's tone indicated she would tolerate no disagreement.

Then again, O'Bannon didn't feel in any shape to disagree.

"Come. I've got you." Mr. Miradeaux put an arm around him and led him toward the exit. O'Bannon rolled his tongue around his mouth, feeling the blood and a few loose teeth. He also felt his left eye swell up. George sure as hell worked him over good.

_George._

With painful effort, he looked over his shoulder. Ron gaped at the departing group, looking unsure what to do. He then turned back to his brother. George was still bent over the crate, still trembling.

Just before he went through the curtain, O'Bannon caught a glimpse of George's face. The breath caught in his throat. Perhaps it was just hope beyond hope, but for a second, he swore he could read the emotion conveyed by George's expression.

Regret.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	23. The Invitation

**CHAPTER 23: THE INVITATION**

* * *

O'Bannon winced as Mrs. Miradeaux applied Healing Paste to the bruise under his left eye**. **He could already feel the tingling of more paste working on the bruises on his cheek. At the same time, an Anti-Swelling Charm helped reduce the size of his swollen lip. He sat still on the edge of the bed in the Miradeauxes' hotel room as Mireet's mother applied more Healing Paste to his face.

"Are you feeling better now?"

"Yeah, I am. Thanks, Mrs. Miradeaux." He smiled at her, but only briefly. His mouth still felt a little sore. "I think you did a better job than any healer could have."

"_Merci. _I had much practice with healing spells and potions having to deal with a very active daughter." She glanced over to Mireet.

O'Bannon followed her gaze, then wished he hadn't. Mireet stood against the wall on the other side of the room, arms folded, glaring at him.

He swallowed, then managed a half-smile. "So, um, what'd you think?" He pointed to his face. "Am I back to my old handsome self or what?"

The deepening lines on her face showed Mireet didn't appreciate his attempt at humor. She snorted and shook her head. "I cannot believe I allowed you to go through with this idiocy."

"Oh c'mon, hon. I've gotten worse beatings than this playing hockey."

"I expect this sort of thing in a hockey game. I do not expect it when you go see one of your best friends."

O'Bannon frowned. "Well, this best friend was pretty pissed off at me. I had to do something to let him get all that anger out of his system. Looks like it worked."

"How can you be so sure?" asked Mireet.

"Well, he stopping using my face for a punching bag, didn't he?"

"You should consider yourself lucky, especially the way you encouraged George to keep hitting you. What if he hadn't stopped? What if he hurt you so bad we had to take you to the hospital? And did you even consider how I would feel about this? Do you know how hard it was to stand there and watch the man I love being beaten, and not be able to do a thing to stop it?" Her eyes glistened with tears as she snapped her head toward Harry Potter. "And you! How could you just stand in my way and not let me help Jimmy?"

The veins in Harry's neck stood out. He looked away from Mireet, rubbing the back of his neck.

"C'mon, Mireet," said O'Bannon. "Don't get pissed off at Harry. I told him to do that."

"And you actually listened to him?" Her glare toward Harry grew harsher.

"Um . . . ah, well . . ." Harry took a step back.

Mireet snorted again. "Ach! You are just as much an idiot as Jimmy."

"Mireet!" A stunned look fell over Mrs. Miradeaux's face. "That is Harry Potter you are talking to, the savior of Wizarding World. Show him the respect he is due."

Harry stared at the floor, his face turning beet red from embarrassment. O'Bannon knew how much he hated that kind of hero worship.

"Yes, he defeated Lord Voldemort," Mireet said. "But he is still an idiot for letting Jimmy talk him into allowing George to hit him."

"Now, Mireet." Mr. Miradeaux raised a calming hand. "Do not be upset with these boys. If anything, I am perhaps the one who planted this seed in Jimmy's mind. I told him that in certain situations you sometimes have to force the issue."

Mireet slapped her sides in exasperation. "Have all the men in this room lost their minds?"

Harry cleared his throat and looked up at Jimmy. "Well, um, maybe we could have handled this differently."

"Hey, Harry. It's not like, when I sat down and started thinking of ways to deal with George, the first idea on my list was, 'Let him beat the crap out of me.'"

Harry chuckled softly. O'Bannon followed suit moments later.

Mireet scowled. She stomped toward the door and flung it open.

"Where are you going?" Mrs. Miradeaux asked.

"Away from here." Mireet stepped through the door and slammed it shut.

O'Bannon sighed and slumped forward. "Aw, dammit." He started to get up.

"No." Mrs. Miradeaux placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Let her go. Give her some time to calm down."

He bit his lip – which caused a jolt of pain – debating whether or not to argue with Mrs. Miradeaux. He glanced at the door, remembering the angry look on Mireet's face as she stormed out of here. It only took a couple of seconds to decide the best course of action was to follow Mrs. Miradeaux's advice.

He sighed again. "I guess I'm getting pretty good at pissing off Mireet, huh?"

"Yes, you are," said Monique, who sat in a chair in the corner of the room. She narrowed her eyes at him. "Is this what my sister has to look forward to being with you?"

"Monique." Mrs. Miradeaux spun around to face her. "This is not the time."

"Then when will it be the time? When this American has married Mireet and made her life miserable."

Anger shot through O'Bannon. He matched Monique's glare. "I will not make her life miserable."

"No. What I just saw proves otherwise."

"Jimmy is going through a hard time right now," said Mr. Miradeaux. "One cannot simply cast a spell and make everything better. When I had my drinking problem, there were many days your mother and I argued over -"

"Why do you insist on defending him?" Monique jumped to her feet. "Especially after everything he has done to Mireet."

"Because Mireet thinks he is worth helping." An edge crept into Mrs. Miradeaux's voice. "And I trust her judgment. I am giving Jimmy a chance. Your father is giving him a chance. Why can't you do the same?"

"Because I can see him breaking Mireet's heart like Marc-Andre did. He has already done so, many times."

"And I'm sorry about that," O'Bannon said. "I can't go back and change the past. All I can do is my damnedest to make sure I never do it to her again."

Monique snorted. "You will forgive me if I do not trust you to keep that promise."

"Monique." Mrs. Miradeaux stepped toward her oldest daughter. "I have tolerated your rudeness long enough."

Monique fired back, first in English, then quickly switching to her native language. Within seconds both mother and daughter were arguing in rapid-fire French. Mr. Miradeaux tried to calm them down without success. Harry backed up against the wall, looking like he wished he could be anywhere but here. O'Bannon wished the same thing for himself.

_First I piss off Mireet, now her mother and sister are arguing because of me. I feel like I'm becoming a curse to this family._

Guilt coated his insides as Mrs. Miradeaux and Monique continued to argue.

Suddenly someone knocked on the door.

The arguing ceased. All heads turned toward the door.

_Mireet?_ O'Bannon hoped. Though if it was her, why would she knock? She could just use her wand to open the door.

"Um, I'll get it," Harry offered. He walked over to the door and opened it. A plump, middle-aged woman with red hair stood in the doorway.

"Mrs. Weasley?" Harry blurted in surprise.

_Mrs. Weasley!_ O'Bannon stiffened in surprise. He held his breath as he stared unblinking at George's mother. Fear coursed through his veins. Mrs. Weasley was the ultimate definition of a mama bear, fiercely protective of her children. Whatever anger George had toward him, he figured it had to be ten-fold for Mrs. Weasley.

"Harry? I didn't expect to see you here."

"What . . . what are you doing here?"

Mrs. Weasley bit her lip. "George came over an hour ago. Oh Merlin, he was so upset. He told me everything that happened at the shop between him and Jimmy."

O'Bannon swallowed. His heart sped up.

"Arthur learned from the Aurors Office where Mireet and her family were staying. When I couldn't find them at McAuliffe's, I came here and . . ." Mrs. Weasley closed her lips tight when she spotted O'Bannon. He tried to avoid her gaze.

Mrs. Weasley looked past Harry to the Miradeauxes. "May I come in?"

Mrs. Miradeaux nodded. George's mother came in and introduced herself to the Miradeauxes. She then turned to O'Bannon. A shiver went through him. He didn't have the guts to look Mrs. Weasley in the eye. After leaving the Wizarding World to try and forget her dead son, then goading another of her sons into beating him up . . . Merlin's beard, she probably despised him. He probably deserved it coming from her. Mrs. Weasley had let him and his friends stay at The Burrow during the Chupacabra hunt, treated them like they were part of the family.

_And look how I repay her._

He gripped the edges of the bed, bracing himself for the inevitable outburst.

"Hello, Jimmy."

"M-Mrs. Weasley."

Silence hung over the room. When Mrs. Weasley still didn't say a word, O'Bannon drew a breath and pushed himself to his feet. He squared his shoulders and finally lifted his eyes to Mrs. Weasley.

_Might as well take it like a man._

The two just stared at one another, neither one speaking.

Mrs. Weasley stepped toward him. O'Bannon clenched his jaw. Maybe she'd just slap him and –

She wrapped him in her arms and kissed his cheek.

His body stiffened from the shock.

"It's good to see you again, Jimmy."

He pulled back from her hug, looking into her eyes, his mind numb. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly, too surprised to form words.

"M-M-Mrs. Weasley?" O'Bannon finally found his voice. He mind churned, trying to figure out what to say. Instead a torrent of words spilled from his mouth. "Mrs. Weasley, I'm so sorry. I should have never left the Wizarding World. I should have never tried to forget about Fred. He was one of my best friends and I really miss him. And I'm sorry about what happened with George. I should have never egged him on like that. It's just I didn't know what else to do and I want him to forgive me and . . . and . . ."

"Tut-tut. It's all right, dear." She hugged him again. This time, he hugged her back. "It's all right."

"I just . . . I don't get it." O'Bannon shook his head. "After everything I did . . . I mean, George and Ron threatened to hex me the first time I saw them. Just about every friend I had in Gryffindor is pissed at me. Why . . . why are you being so nice to me?"

Mrs. Weasley sighed. She stared at the floor for a moment before speaking. "I was angry with you, Jimmy. Quite angry. After everything Fred and George, all of us, had done for you, to turn your back on us like that, it hurt. It hurt to think Fred . . ." She swallowed, tears glistening in her eyes. "That Fred meant so little to you. Then I heard you were here in England, trying to apologize to everyone. George and Ron were determined to never forgive you. But me . . . I couldn't help but remember what it was like when Percy turned his back on us."

O'Bannon knew that story fairly well. Percy Weasley had put his career ambitions at the Ministry of Magic ahead of his family, to the point he sided with Minister Fudge and his campaign to deny Voldemort's return. Even when the dark wizard's existence was made public, Percy continued to shun his family, never wanting to admit to them he'd been wrong in the first place.

"I lost two years with Percy," Mrs. Weasley continued. "Two whole years I can never get back. It took a war to bring him back to us. And just when I got one son back, I lost . . . I lost another."

She conjured a tissue with her wand and dabbed her eyes. "My children were all so angry at Percy. They also lost two years with him. After what happened with Fred . . . no one knows what life has in store for us. We can't waste it on being angry at people, especially when those people are family."

"But, Mrs. Weasley, I'm not -"

"Hush," she cut him off. "You are family. After everything you've been through with my children, you are a part of my family, just like Harry is."

A lump formed in his throat. A surge of gratitude overwhelmed the shock that filled his insides. "I . . . I don't know what to say. Thanks. Really, thanks."

Mrs. Weasley smiled at him. "What happened at the shop, George is very bothered by it. I swore for a moment he looked remorseful about the whole thing."

Hope swelled within him. "Did he . . . did he say anything?"

"Not much beyond the basic details. While I can't condone your methods, Jimmy, I think there might be an opening for you and George to make things right between the two of you."

"So what should I do? Meet him somewhere and try to talk to him?"

"Oh, you'll most certainly have the chance to do that. Sunday night, in fact."

A quizzical look came over O'Bannon's face. "Why Sunday night?"

"Because that's the night I'm inviting you to our family dinner at The Burrow."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	24. Growing Up

**CHAPTER 24: GROWING UP**

* * *

"I hope you have some new combat drills to run Dad through, 'cause I'm fresh out of ideas." Jared Diaz said to his cousin, Rosa Infante, as they both shuffled into the kitchen.

"Don't look at me. I've used just about every spell and hex and curse I can think of against him. It's getting to the point we can hardly beat him anymore."

"But that's good," he said as they both plopped down into chairs at the kitchen table. "It means Dad's probably ready to go back to SMACRAT."

Rosa let out a sigh, slowly bobbing her head back and forth as though mulling over his words. "Let's hope."

Jared nodded, slouching in his chair. He thought back over the past few hours, and all the drills they had done with his father. He could count on one hand and still have fingers left over how many times he, Rosa and Esteban had bested him. Surely Aunt Adelaide had to recommend his reinstatement to SMACRAT.

He slouched in his chair as he thought about his aunt. He stared at the surface of the table, frowning.

_Maybe I should apologize._

_What if it gets messy? What if she doesn't accept it?_

"Hey. You okay?"

Hesitantly, Jared looked up. Rosa shot him a concerned look. He thought about just saying, "I'm fine," but sensed she wouldn't buy that answer.

A tapping at the kitchen window spared him from having to respond to Rosa's question. He turned around and saw an owl sitting on the window sill, an envelope in its beak.

"I got it." Jared walked over to the window, opened it, and let the owl inside. He took the envelope it carried.

"Hey! It's from Jimmy and Mireet."

"Ooh!" Rosa leapt out of her chair and bounded over to him. "How are they doing? How are they doing?"

"Well we won't know until we read the letter, will we?"

Rosa stuck her tongue out at Jared, then stood next to him as opened the envelope and unfolded the letter.

The first half was a progress report on Jimmy's efforts at reconciling with his British friends. Things had gone well with the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, but not so well with the Gryffindors. In fact, Angelina Johnson decked him just moments after he ran into her. Jared grimaced, remembering how he had the hots big time for her.

_Probably a good thing I never tried anything with her in the Room of Requirement._

Jimmy also said Mireet's family had dropped in on them for a surprise visit. While he was getting along well with Mr. and Mrs. Miradeaux, Mireet's sister, Monique, had yet to warm up to him. From the tone of the letter, Jimmy didn't hold out any hope for that.

Jared frowned. He'd only met Monique briefly four years ago in Normandy following the Longathian Tunnel Affair. While she was drop dead gorgeous, she didn't seem very personable.

Also included in the letter was a photograph of Jimmy and Mireet, smiling with their arms around each other's waists, and a tall waterfall behind them. The writing on the back identified the place. _Pistyll Rhaeadr, Wales, UK. _

"Look at them." Rosa smiled and clutched Jared's arm. "They look so happy together, don't they? I'm so glad things are finally working out for them."

"Yeah. Me too." He chewed on the inside of his cheek. His gaze drifted away from the photograph, Jimmy and Mireet's faces lingering in his mind's eye. Before long their images began to blur and morph. He imagined himself standing in front of that waterfall with a witch by his side. Not a tall, blond French witch, but one short with black hair and delicate Asian features.

He sighed, louder than he wanted. Loud enough it caught Rosa's attention.

"You okay?"

"Huh? Oh, um, yeah. Just . . . thinking."

"About . . ." Rosa tilted her head, an expectant look on her face.

"Um . . . nothing. It's nothing."

"Like hell it's nothing. Come on, spill. What's bugging you?"

"Nothing, okay?" He put the letter on the counter and headed toward the ice box.

"You know I'm gonna bug you until you tell me."

Jared halted, staring at the kitchen floor.

_Maybe I should just tell her._

_No. It's stupid. She'll probably say it's stupid, too._

"Like I said. It's nothing."

Rosa growled in frustration. "Argh! Will you stop saying that? I know you're lying."

Jared scowled and shook his head. "Look, um, I'll tell you later, okay?" He wondered if his cousin knew that was another lie. "Right now I'm starving. Let's just have lunch."

Rosa didn't say anything. She just glared at him, a glare he could easily translate.

_You will tell me later . . . or else._

About a minute later Dad and Esteban entered the kitchen. They talked as they ate, all except Esteban, who alternated between taking small bites of his ham sandwich and staring in silent contemplation at his plate.

When everyone finished eating, Jared's brother and father left the kitchen. Rosa cleared the table with her wand, checking the doorway to make sure the two were out of earshot.

"What's wrong with Esteban?"

Jared frowned. "I overheard him talking to Dad before we started training this morning. He Floo called Oriana last night."

Rosa grimaced. "I take it things didn't go very well."

"Nope. He wanted to arrange for some time to see Rodolfo. I mean, he hasn't seen the kid since . . . well, since that night he hit you."

Rosa's shoulders slumped as he continued. "From the way it sounded, she didn't seem keen on doing that. I don't know, I guess she still doesn't trust him to keep his temper in check. Anyway, from what I gather they got into a big fight. Heh! That probably didn't help his cause."

"This is getting ridiculous." Rosa crossed her arms over her chest. "Oriana has to know what happened that night was a one-time thing. An accident. She has to know Esteban would never hurt her or Rodolfo."

"Yeah, I know. Man, why can't she just forgive him and move on?"

Rosa's eyes widened. "Look who's talking."

Jared's brow furrowed. A moment later understanding hit him. He knew exactly what Rosa was talking about. Or more precisely, who.

**XXXXX**

The combat drills continued throughout the afternoon. It didn't take long for Jared to feel the whole thing was pointless. His father defeated nearly every attack they threw at him.

_How much longer do we have to do this? Dad's ready._

Rosa called a halt to the drills around 4:30. As Dad and Esteban headed inside, Rosa walked up next to Jared.

"Next time I see Mom," she said, "I'm gonna tell her if she wants to keep running Uncle Irving through these drills, she's gonna have to get some more experienced aurors. We've gone as far as we can here."

"Or you can tell her Dad's ready to go back to work."

Rosa paused for a moment. "Or I can do that."

Jared nodded, hoping Aunt Adelaide would listen to Rosa.

_She sure as hell won't listen to me._

He looked off to the woods surrounding his father's house, thinking about what Rosa said to him in the kitchen earlier today.

_I want Oriana to forgive Esteban, but when it comes to me and Aunt Adelaide . . ._

His train of thought was interrupted when he spotted a dark speck flying over the trees. It didn't take long for him to realize it was an owl.

The bird soared over Jared's head, releasing the envelope it held in its beak. He snatched it out of the air and scanned the front. It was addressed to him. He looked to the left hand corner to see who sent it.

His eyes widened. "Merlin's beard!"

"What?" Rosa asked.

"It's from Tasanee." A smile spread across his face. He'd been thinking about his former Thai assistant just a few hours ago. And now here he was, holding an envelope from her.

_Man. Maybe Divination isn't such a load of crap._

He turned away from Rosa and tore open the envelope. Heart thumping, he unfolded the letter.

_Dear Jared,_

_I hope you are well, and I hope your family is well. How are your father and brother doing? I hope their situations have improved since the last time we talked._

_I am doing well here. I also have good news to tell you. The Department of Magical Research and Exploration has assigned me permanently to the dig site. I am so happy, especially as we have recently discovered a large chamber with many artifacts, including a number of prophecies. The Department has brought in some of the best Curse-Breakers in Thailand to try and discover what the prophecies are, but I do not think they will be successful. Prophecies can only reveal themselves to the people they were made about, and most likely all those people have been dead for centuries._

_It is a very exciting time here at the dig site. I hope very much you can return here someday. I know you are busy helping your family, and I know that must take priority. But perhaps when those issues are resolved, you can return to Thailand. I know your previous experience here was not very pleasant, but we can make your next experience here more enjoyable. Please consider this._

_Take care. I hope to hear from you soon, or even better, see you soon._

_Best Wishes,_

_Tasanee_

Jared let out a slow breath, his eyes fixed on the letter. Images of Tasanee flashed through his mind. Good images. Ones where she visited him in the hospital when he was recovering from his coma, when they talked for hours, when he really got to know. His chest tightened when he remembered saying good-bye to her outside the hospital, the softness of her skin as he kissed her cheek.

"This girl is really into you."

He whipped his head around to find Rosa peering over his shoulder at the letter.

"Do you have to be so nosy?"

"I'm your cousin. I have a right to be nosy."

He grunted and stepped away from her.

"So?" Rosa drew out the word.

"So what?"

"Are you going to go back to Thailand? It sounds like you have a great excuse to."

Jared worked his jaw back and forth. He had promised Tasanee he would try, and he would definitely love to see her again. But . . .

"I don't know. It'd be nice, but would my boss let me go back? Would Prajak, the guy who runs the dig in Thailand, even want me back? And . . . and . . ."

"And what?" Rosa's expression hardened.

"I mean, it's not like I'm gonna permanently live in Thailand. If I go back and . . . stuff happens with me and Tasanee, and then the Magical Museum of North America wants me back . . . I mean, what do I do then?"

Rosa shook her head and muttered several indecipherable curses under her breath. She then pulled out her wand. Jared tensed, wondering if she'd hex him. Instead, Rosa pointed her wand at the house.

"_Accio Jimmy and Mireet's picture!"_

Seconds later the photograph flew out the front door and landed in Rosa's hand. She stomped up to him and shoved the picture of Jimmy and Mireet in his face.

"Da'hell?" He backed up.

"You see these two?" Rosa jabbed the photo inches from his face. "Five years. It took these two five years before they finally realized they were meant for one another. Five years of one excuse after another why they shouldn't be together, including, 'He's from America, she's from France. How can we make this work?' Well now they're making it work. And I've got news for you. Thailand is a hell of a lot farther from here than France. Now, do you like Tasanee? And I don't mean like as in just, 'I'd like to see her naked, and I'd like to sleep with her.' I mean like as in you like being around her, you like talking to her, you like having her in your life and you don't like being away from her."

"Well, I um, you know. I do really like her. But it's just . . . Well, do you think she likes me that way?"

Rosa slapped her arms against her sides. "Merlin's beard, did you actually read that letter? Did you forget how that girl visited you _every single day_ when you were in the hospital? What more do you need to believe Tasanee likes you as much as you like her?"

Jared said nothing, just stared at his cousin. His mind conjured images of him and Tasanee together. His stomach began to knot, wondering how serious things could get between them. Could he handle that? The last time he'd been in a serious relationship was during his Seventh Year at Salem with Michelle Bunker.

_And that ended because I couldn't bring myself to tell her I love her. What if the same thing happens with Tasanee?_

Jared cleared his throat. "Well, um, I just . . . I don't know."

Rosa let loose an exasperated breath. "You know, Jared. Avoiding responsibility was one thing when you were twelve or thirteen. But you're twenty-one now. You need to grow up and start dealing with the things that are really important. And I'm not only talking about Tasanee."

With one last glare, Rosa stormed off to the house.

Jared watched her go inside. Sighing, he stared at the letter, wondering what he should do regarding Tasanee, and that other "family matter."

One thing was certain. He couldn't just sit back and hope everything got resolved on its own like he was apt to do. He had to face these problems himself.

**XXXXX **

_Where the heck is Rosa?_ Jared chewed his corn flakes, gazing out into the living room. Any moment he expected a knock at the door or green Floo flames to burst from the fireplace.

Neither happened.

He returned to his corn flakes, eating slowly, wishing Rosa would get here already.

Worry niggled the back of his mind. Had Rosa been called out for some sort of auror mission and gotten hurt? No, it couldn't be that. If it had, they would have heard from Aunt Adelaide.

Minutes later Jared finished the rest of his corn flakes and downed the remainder of his pumpkin juice. Rosa still hadn't arrived.

"I can't believe Rosa isn't here yet," Esteban said.

"I know." Jared got to his feet. "I'm gonna give her a Floo call, see what's keeping her."

He headed into the living room and made for the fireplace. He got within six feet of it before green flames gushed out of it.

Jared backed up as Rosa walked out of the fire.

"Finally. Where the heck have you been?"

Before Rosa could answer, someone else stepped out of the flames, a slender, older witch with long dark hair. Jared tensed as they locked eyes.

"Um, hi, Aunt Adelaide."

"Jared," she nodded to him.

Silence hung between them. Jared worked his jaw back and forth, looking away from his aunt.

"Is your father around?" she asked.

"Yeah. He and Esteban are in the kitchen."

Jared turned and led his cousin and aunt into the kitchen.

"Adelaide." Dad beamed at her. "What brings you by here this morning?"

"I have some important news to tell you."

"Um, do you want us to leave?" Esteban asked.

"No, no. All of you can stay. This is news you'll want to hear."

Jared felt his breathing increase. His eyes flickered between his father and his aunt.

Aunt Adelaide took a breath and continued. "I had a meeting with the Director of the Bureau for the Management of Magical Creatures yesterday. We talked about all the progress you've made in your drills with Rosa, Esteban and Jared, and also how you've gotten better mentally. You really have come a long way since . . . well, since Liana's death."

Dad closed his eyes, his shoulders slumping a bit. He then drew a breath and stared at his sister, managing a smile. "Thanks, Adelaide."

"You're welcome. Anyway, after talking with Director Romero, we both felt you've done enough drills, and are ready to go back into the field."

Elation shot though Jared. "Yes!" He smiled wide and pumped his fist. "Hear that, Dad. You're back on SMACRAT."

"No." Aunt Adelaide held up a hand. "Not yet."

"What?" The joy he'd felt just a second ago had been knocked out of his body by utter shock. "But you said he was ready to go back into the field. You said he's all better."

"Jared, we've talked about this before. SMACRAT deals with the most dangerous magical creatures in the country. We can't just throw your father back into that after being out of action for nearly two years. He needs some practical field experience before he can return to SMACRAT. So he'll start out dealing with creatures like Chupacabra or Thunderbirds, and work his way up to more dangerous creatures."

"But he -"

"Jared." His father cut him off. "Your aunt's right. Training is fine, but I need to have some actual missions under my belt before I can even consider going back to SMACRAT. But don't worry. It will happen. It may take months, maybe even a year or two. But it will happen."

Jared bit his lip. Several seconds passed before he let out a slow breath, accepting his father's logic.

Aunt Adelaide walked over to Dad. Her jaw tightened before she spoke. "Congratulations, Irving. I just wish this could have happened sooner. Maybe if I . . . well, I could have done more -"

"Adelaide, stop beating yourself up over this. These last two years haven't been easy on any of us, and I didn't help matters by shutting you, all of you," he gazed at Jared, Rosa and Esteban, "out of my life. Looking back on it, you were right to recommend removing me from SMACRAT. If you hadn't, I definitely would have messed up somewhere down the line and gotten myself killed, or worse, gotten others killed. So thank you for giving me this second chance. I will make you proud of me."

"I'm already proud of you." Aunt Adelaide hugged Dad.

Jared watched Rosa turn away, quickly wiping her right eye. Even he could feel some tears stinging his eyes. He clenched his teeth and pushed them down.

"Thanks a lot, Aunt Adelaide." Esteban hugged her. "We all really owe you."

"You don't owe me anything, honey. This is what family does."

She let go of Esteban, then turned to him. He just stared at his aunt, struggling to open his mouth, to find the right words. But all he could think of was the incident in Aunt Adelaide's office after Dad had been removed from SMACRAT. How he yelled at her, called her a hag, told her he wanted nothing more to do with her. This woman who'd been like a second mother to him, who had helped his father turn his life around.

Embarrassment consumed him. Embarrassment and self-loathing.

"Thanks, Aunt Adelaide," he muttered, not even looking at her.

"You're welcome," she said in almost a whisper. More silence passed before she spoke again. "Um, well . . . I better get to work. Irving, you can take today off. I think you've earned a little rest. Director Romero will be expecting you in his office tomorrow, eight a-m sharp."

"I'll be there."

Aunt Adelaide nodded, looked in Jared's direction, then said good-bye and headed into the living room.

Loud footsteps caught Jared's attention. He looked up just as Rosa slapped him on the shoulder, hard.

"Wha-"

"Dammit," Rosa said through clenched teeth. "Grow the hell up and apologize already." She jerked her head in the direction Aunt Adelaide left.

Jared stared out into the living room, then at Rosa, and her fiery gaze.

He sighed and left the kitchen.

Aunt Adelaide had just scooped up a handful of Floo Powder from the urn next to the fireplace when Jared called out her name.

"Yes?" She turned around to face him.

Jared's jaw stiffened. Anxiety flooded his insides. He took a couple quick breaths. "Um, Aunt Adelaide. I, um . . ."

He sighed loudly and rubbed the back of his neck. His eyes locked on his aunt. He thought about what she had just done for Dad, about everything she had done for him his entire life, and about that horrible day in her office.

"Aunt Adelaide, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You're not a hag. I should have never said that. I was just pissed off at everything. My mother was dead, my father was a mess, and no one was helping him, and then you convinced Dad's boss to kick him off SMACRAT and . . . I just wanted to blame someone. I don't know who the Death Eater was who killed my mom, if he or she is even still alive. I . . . after what happened with Dad, you were just the most convenient person to be mad at. And I just got used to being mad at you. I . . . I'm sorry, Aunt Adelaide. I'm really sorry. Please forgive me."

Aunt Adelaide stared at him. Jared swore he saw her eyes glisten. Would she cry? Would she even accept his apology after the way he'd treated her?

He waited for her to say something, and waited. Tremors gripped his legs when Aunt Adelaide continued her silence.

Suddenly she strode up to him and threw her arms around him. Jared hugged her tight, clenching his throat as the tears he'd been fighting off returned.

"I forgive you, Jared." She rubbed his hair, then gave him a gentle kiss on the temple. "I never meant to hurt your father. It was the hardest thing I ever did, to recommend dismissing him from SMACRAT. To have him hate me, and you hate me."

Jared almost said he didn't hate her, but couldn't bring himself to do it. Truth is, he had hated her, hated her for so long. How stupid had he been to do that?

"I just want things to be the way the used to be," he said, feeling his voice crack. "I mean, when we all got along. When things weren't so messed up."

Aunt Adelaide smiled and cupped his cheek. "I want that too." She paused. "Jared, I know I can never take Liana's place. But if you ever need anything, anything at all, don't ever hesitate to come to me."

"I won't. I swear I won't. I mean, you've always been like a second mother to me." He bit his lip, praying he wouldn't break down. "You're the closest thing I have to a mother now."

A tear slid down Aunt Adelaide's cheek. She hugged him again, tighter than before. "I love you, Jared."

"I love you, too, Aunt Adelaide."

The two continued their tight embrace. Suddenly he felt a third person put their arms around them. He opened his wet eyes and discovered Rosa hugging them.

Smiling, he removed one arm from his aunt and placed it around his cousin's back. He took a ragged breath and shut his eyes tight.

_Don't cry, dammit. Don't . . . Don't . . ._

Jared gave in to his emotions and cried into his aunt's shoulder.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	25. A Dinner To Remember

**CHAPTER 25: A DINNER TO REMEMBER**

* * *

Jimmy O'Bannon's stomach twisted painfully as he laid eyes on The Burrow. He clenched his teeth, praying he wouldn't throw up.

_How the hell am I supposed to eat anything?_ Mrs. Weasley was a phenomenal cook. The last thing he wanted to do was show up at her house without any sort of appetite.

His worries about food were soon replaced by another, more important worry. What sort of reaction would he get when he walked in there?

"Jimmy."

He looked over at Mireet, who stood next to him. She gave him a supportive smile and squeezed his hand. He managed to smile back, taking comfort in her presence. At least he'd have one ally in there.

_Actually, more than one. _Mrs. Weasley would certainly try to help resolve things. Heck, she was the one who invited him here for the Weasley family dinner in the first place. Harry would also be on his side, too.

But would that be enough to help patch up things with Ron, Ginny, Bill, and of course, George?

O'Bannon bit his lip, recalling his last image of George as Mr. Miradeaux helped him out of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. He'd appeared totally shaken after using his face for a punching bag. Had that changed George's feelings toward him, or did he still hate him?

"Come." Mireet started forward, still holding his hand. O'Bannon had no choice but to follow. His heart pounded the closer they got to The Burrow. He feared it would explode through his chest when they reached the door. He tensed, trying to force himself to knock.

Mireet did it for him.

Nausea burned O'Bannon's stomach as he stared at the door. What if Ron opened it? Or Ginny? Or George? Would they invite him in, or would he get nailed with some nasty hex?

He almost jumped when the knob clicked and the door opened.

To his relief, Mrs. Weasley stood before him.

"Jimmy. Mireet. So glad you could come." She stepped outside and hugged both of them.

"Thank you for the invitation again, Mrs. Weasley," Mireet said. "It was very kind of you."

"Oh, no bother. Hopefully . . ." Mrs. Weasley's jaw clenched. Now O'Bannon sensed some nervousness radiating from her. "Well, come in. We should be ready to eat in about fifteen minutes. Have a seat and relax."

O'Bannon nodded and hesitantly stepped inside. He barely had a chance to look around the living room when he felt multiple sets of eyes on him.

Ginny sat on a couch next to Harry, her face unreadable. Bill and Mr. Weasley had been sitting in chairs facing one another, and now turned to him, their faces stiff.

Even Percy was here. He stood beside the fireplace, looking like someone held a small turd under his nose. Percy's reaction didn't concern O'Bannon too much. He'd never gotten along with this particular Weasley sibling, and wouldn't be troubled at all if the self-absorbed git didn't forgive him.

He then looked to the far corner of the living room, where Ron, Hermione and George sat. Ron scowled while Hermione gave him a concerned look. George just stared at the floor. Was that a good sign or a bad one?

"_Bonjour, _everyone," Mireet said.

"Mireet. Jimmy," Mr. Weasley and Bill greeted them, Mr. Weasley's voice a little more expressive than that of his eldest son.

"It's good to see you both again," Hermione said from across the room. She then looked to Ron, smacked him on the knee, and nodded sharply toward them. Ron sighed heavily and muttered, "Hello."

A flicker of surprise rose in O'Bannon. Did he have an ally in Hermione? He assumed she would be totally on Ron's side. Hermione had always been more an acquaintance than any sort of friend to him.

O'Bannon then turned to Percy. The officious-looking redhead just gave him a perfunctory nod.

_Whatever._

Ginny cleared her throat. She rose from the couch and walked over to them.

"It's good to see you again, Mireet."

"You too, Ginny. It has been too long."

The two witches hugged. O'Bannon felt some relief at the sight. At least Ginny didn't hold it against Mireet for being with the guy who left this world to try and forget about her dead brother.

Ginny let go of Mireet and turned to him. She bit her lip, her eyes flickering to the floor, the ceiling, the walls.

"Um, it's . . . good to see you, Jimmy," she said, though without much enthusiasm. She also made no attempt to hug him.

"Same here, Ginny."

She gave him a quick smile, and went back to avoiding eye contact with him. It had been a better reaction than he expected from the fiery redhead.

_Maybe Harry had a talk with her before we came over. Convinced her not to hex me._

"Oh, do sit down already." Mrs. Weasley ushered them over to a couch near Mr. Weasley's and Bill's chairs. "Sorry, but I must pop back into the kitchen. I don't want to overcook the potatoes."

Mrs. Weasley strode out of the living room.

O'Bannon folded his hands and looked around at the rest of the Weasleys. A curtain of silence descended over the room. He shifted in the chair, wondering if he should start a conversation or let someone else do it.

_What do I say? Just start talking about all the trips we took with Mireet's parents? Talk about the weather? Talk about the friggin' Chudley Cannons? Act like everything's cool again?_

The silence continued.

Finally, Harry spoke up. "Um . . . so, Mireet. Did your family already go back to France?"

"_Oui._ They left a few days ago."

"How are they doing?" asked Ginny.

"My mother and father are well. They enjoyed their visit to England very much."

"And your sister?"

The veins in O'Bannon's neck tightened. He looked over at Mireet, and saw her jaw clench.

_Yeah, not the best subject to bring up, Ginny._

Mireet exhaled slowly. "She is the same as always." Her tone had an edge to it.

Ginny sighed and stared at her lap, as though she feared she'd made a big mistake bringing up Monique.

"I thought I 'eard a familiar voice," a throaty, French-accented voice carried over the room.

O'Bannon turned toward the twisting staircase. A slender, gorgeous woman with long silvery hair glided down the steps, a thick white blanket cradled in her arms.

"Fleur!" Mireet stood upon seeing her former Beauxbatons schoolmate.

Fleur Delacour – Weasley, now – strolled over to her. The two witches lightly kissed one another on the cheeks.

"Zhimmy." Fleur beamed at him. "Zo good to zee you again."

"You too." O'Bannon smiled back. This was a good sign. Had Fleur not been happy to see him, she would not be shy about letting him know.

"Oh, is this your daughter?" Mireet beamed as she stared at the little bundle in Fleur's arms.

"_Oui_, zis ees little Victorie. I had to go change her before you arrived."

Mireet gasped in delight. "Fleur, she is adorable. May I hold her? Jimmy, come see."

O'Bannon stepped over to them as Mireet took the baby from Fleur. He stood next to his girlfriend and looked down into a small, clear face with a tuft of blondish hair. Mireet's smile widened as she gently rocked little Victorie in her arms.

"Look at you," she spoke in a soft, soothing voice. "You are so beautiful, just like your mother. Yes you are. Yes you are."

A tightness spread through O'Bannon's insides as his imagination took off. He envisioned himself several years from now, married to Mireet, with a baby of their own.

_A baby? Me, a father?_ He'd never really given the subject much thought. Heck, sometimes he wondered if he had what it took to be a father. What if he messed up and his kid turned out into some druggie loser who wound up in jail? It made him wonder how his parents managed to bring him up so he didn't turn into a . . .

He frowned. While he'd been blessed with good parents, it hadn't stopped him from becoming an alcoholic.

"Jimmy, why don't you hold her?" Mireet's voice pulled him back to the present.

"Huh?"

"Here. Hold her." She started to hand Victorie over to him before he could say anything.

He held up his arms, tensing as Mireet gave him the baby. He pulled her in close to his torso. _Don't drop her. Don't drop her._

O'Bannon looked down at Victorie. The baby blinked and stared up at him.

"Um . . . hi there."

Victorie's face scrunched up. Her mouth opened and she let loose a piercing cry.

_Good one, O'Bannon. _He groaned.

Fleur gave him a sympathetic smile and took Victorie from him. He heard a soft chuckle from Ginny. Harry joined her moments later.

For the next several minutes, Victorie was the sole topic of conversation. "She made the cutest sound the other day . . ." "You should she the outfit Fleur got her . . ." "If we get three straight hours a sleep a night, we're lucky. But it's worth it for this little one . . ."

Much of the tension O'Bannon had been feeling started to fade. At moments, he could pretend like everything was normal between him and the Weasleys.

_Nothing like a baby to break the ice._

Those thoughts vanished when he looked at Ron and George, who had not participated in the conversation at all.

"Dinner's ready!" Mrs. Weasley called from the kitchen.

Everybody headed for the table. As O'Bannon sat down, he realized his stomach didn't ache as it did before he entered The Burrow. For that he was grateful as Mrs. Weasley had prepared a pork roast that smelled fantastic, along with a side of roast potatoes. Everyone dug in, or "tucked in" as the British say. Three or four different conversations took place around the table.

"So are the rumors at the Ministry true?" Percy asked his father. "Are you getting moved to another department?"

"I couldn't believe there's still a law on the books prohibiting Muggle-borns from marrying each other," Hermione said. "Of course, it hasn't been enforced for more than two hundred years. Most people probably aren't aware of it, but still it ought to be stricken."

"So Zhimmy, Mireet?" Fleur spoke as she spooned some green goop into Victorie's mouth. "Did you come to England by port key, or did you use one of zose Muggle, eh, _ear-plins."_

"We used a port key," Mireet answered.

"Oh, such a shame. Beel's father 'as been telling me zo much about zese _ear-plins._ I would love to 'ear from someone who 'as flown on zem."

"Jimmy has flown on them before," Mireet informed her.

"Really?" Fleur's eyes lit up. "What are zey like?"

O'Bannon opened his mouth to respond, but caught sight of George on the other side of the table. He stared at his food quietly, running his fork back and forth over the surface of his roast pork.

"Zhimmy?"

"Huh?" He whipped his head toward Fleur.

"I wanted to know what eet was like to be on an _ear-plin."_

"Oh, um . . ." His eyes flickered back and forth between the half-veela and George. His former best friend still hadn't taken a bit out of his dinner.

"Um, the ones I've been on are pretty big. But there are some small ones, too."

"'ow many Muggles can you fit in zem?"

"Well, it depends." He glanced at George, who now stood statue still.

"Zhimmy?" Fleur sounded annoyed he was taking so long to answer her.

"Oh! Um . . . well, the planes I've been on can seat probably a couple hundred."

"Zat many!" Fleur's eyes widened. "'ow can eet stay in zee air weeth zo many people wizzout magic?"

"Uh, it just does." He took another glance at George. His chest tightened when he saw his former best friend staring at him. The color seemed to drain from his face. It also looked like he was holding his breath.

O'Bannon struggled with his concentration, trying to answer Fleur's question and wondering about George's state of mind.

"Um . . . that kind of stuff you probably need an engineer to answer."

Fleur's brow furrowed. "_Ee-zhin-air?"_

"Yeah." He glanced at George, then Fleur. "They're, um, the people who build stuff in the Muggle World. They know all about really complicated math formulas and physics and stuff like that and . . . and . . ."

He bit his lip, again looking at George. The surviving twin's eyes dropped to his plate. His jaw quivered. It looked like he wanted to say something, but couldn't bring himself to do it. Certainly a far cry from the George Weasley he knew at Hogwarts.

O'Bannon glanced back at Fleur. Their talk about airplanes gave him an idea.

"You know, I remember this one day when we were at Hogwarts, in Transfiguration class, and Professor McGonagall had to step out for a few minutes. And, of course, she tells us not to fool around while she's gone. So what do Fred and George do? They get some parchment and they start making paper airplanes. I ask 'em, 'Where did you learn about paper airplanes?' And they tell me they learned about them in a Muggle Studies class. And George tells me that they really had fun with them when they learned about jet airplanes. Next thing you know, Fred and George are throwing paper airplanes all over the classroom, and they're charming them to throw out red and orange and yellow sparks and zip all over the place. There were kids diving under desks, and oh my God, Angelina Johnson's screaming at 'em to stop, saying McGonagall's gonna take away a ton of points from Gryffindor."

Harry and Mireet chuckled as he continued. "Then Fred and George turn to me, and they want me to get in on this. I'm like, 'No way, man. McGonagall will blast my butt back to Boston." So George leans in and goes, 'C'mon, Jimmy Boy. You know you want to.' So next thing you know, I'm flinging around paper airplanes, I'm charming them where they look like miniature comets. Oh man, and one of 'em buzzed right over Alicia Spinnet and singed her hair. So she goes ballistic on me, gets her wand, and sends the airplane back at us."

Now Mr. Weasley and Ginny joined in the laughter. Mrs. Weasley just shook her head. George clenched his jaw as O'Bannon continued.

"So the three of us drop to the floor. The plane hits our desk and explodes. And what do you think happened right at that exact moment? McGonagall walks back in. Oh man, she blew her stack. Stomped over to our desk, saw the three of us kneeling under it. And George, he just looks up and -"

"Jimmy, I -"

Dead silence fell across the table. All eyes focused on George. He clutched his fork tightly in his fist, staring right at O'Bannon. Anxious ripples went through his stomach.

George drew a couple of slow breaths before he continued. "I, um . . . I've been thinking about the other day, in the shop." He paused, looking up at O'Bannon. "There've been times over the last year when I wanted nothing more than to curse you, or just beat on you like Muggles do. I thought it would make me feel . . . better. That I'd give you what you deserve for turning your back on us, on Fred. But . . . But after I hit you, after you left . . . I didn't feel better, Jimmy."

O'Bannon didn't move. He just stared right at George as he continued. "Part of me still wanted to be mad at you, but I kept thinking about all the things we did at Hogwarts. More importantly, I thought about those times you came over here to help us, first to warn us about the Longathian Tunnel, then to fight the Chupacabra. You and your friends risked your lives to help us. And now you're here again, trying to make amends. You even went so far as to let me bash your face in. I guess . . . I guess that has to count for something."

O'Bannon leaned forward in his seat. "George . . . what I did was wrong. Leaving this world, trying to forget about the war, about all of you. It was a damn selfish thing to do. Truth is, when I was back to the Muggle World, I thought _more _about the war and all the people we lost."

His shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry, George. I wish I could do more, but all I can say is I'm sorry_, _and hope you, and everyone else here, can forgive me."

The corners of George's mouth twisted. "You know, I remember something Hermione said when we were back at Hogwarts, when we formed the DA. That one of Voldemort's tactics was to spread discord and mistrust. Turn friends against friends. We didn't let that happen during the war, but it sure happened when the fighting ended. And it shouldn't have. If anything, I think we need each other as much now as we did when we were fighting Voldemort."

A whimper came from Mrs. Weasley.

George placed his palms on table and pushed himself to his feet. He walked around the table, approaching O'Bannon's seat. He stood just as George got to him.

"I don't think Fred would want us to be like this, Jimmy." George stuck out his hand. "I forgive you."

"Thanks, man." O'Bannon shook his hand. The two then gave each other a one-arm hug, pounding each other on the back. He heard a sniffle nearby. Mireet. Another sniffle came from down the table. Hermione?

"Oh . . . Oh, George." Mrs. Weasley leapt from her chair and rushed over to them. She wrapped her arms around both O'Bannon and George and gave them each a kiss on the cheek.

"Mum, come on," George said.

"Oh hush, you. I'm just so glad your friends again." Mrs. Weasley finally released them.

"Yeah. Me too," O'Bannon smiled at Mrs. Weasley, then at George. He smiled back and returned to his seat. Finally, he started eating his dinner.

"So, Jimmy. How about telling us what it was like being a professional hockey player?"

Again he smiled. Mireet took hold of his hand, her smile quivering as she appeared to be fighting off the urge to cry. All around the table, all eyes were on him, no longer suspicious, no longer unsure, but eager to hear about his experiences.

A lump formed in his throat. How many times had he feared he'd lost George, lost the Weasley family forever? But they had forgiven him, they had accepted him back into the fold.

A feeling swelled within him, a feeling that, until tonight, he'd only experienced once over the past year, the first night he and Mireet had been intimate.

That feeling was happiness.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	26. Starting Over

**CHAPTER 26: STARTING OVER**

* * *

"How did things go at work today, Dad?" Jared Diaz winced a little at his excited tone. Merlin's beard, he sounded like he was six-years-old greeting his father when he got home. Still, today had been Dad's first day back at the Bureau for the Management of Magical Creatures in several months. Jared wanted to hear that everything had gone well.

"It was nothing special." Dad grinned at him. "Most of it was just getting back up to speed with procedure, meeting some of the new workers."

"So when are you going to be back in the field."

"Not for another couple of months."

"A couple of months?" Jared's mouth hung open as he shook his head. "But what about all those drills you went through with me and Rosa and Esteban?"

His father held up both hands in a calming gesture. "Jared, relax. Everything you did helped immensely. But there were some aspects of your drills that didn't cover certain situations my bureau deals with. So I'll have to take some refresher courses."

Jared frowned.

"Jared." Dad placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know you'd like to see me back out there taking on werewolves and wendigos. But you have to remember, your Aunt Adelaide said it would take a while before I was fully qualified to return to SMACRAT."

He sighed. Yeah, Aunt Adelaide did say that. He'd just have to accept that reality, and live with the hope – no, the certainty – that one day his father would again be part of the Bureau's Special Magical Creatures Action Team. Hopefully sooner rather than later.

"Still," his father continued as he sat on the couch in the middle of the living room. "It felt good being back there again. Hearing folks talk about the best way to negotiate with reptoids and giants, or how to settle the latest dispute between the centaur clans in the Montana colony, or watching wizards rush off to stop a grindylow that wandered into a Muggle lake in Oklahoma." He shook his head. "I can't tell you how much I wished I was part of all that today."

Jared tightened his lips to keep from frowning. "One day, Dad."

He looked up at him and smiled. "That's right, son. One day."

Happiness flooded Jared. He just stood there, watching his father smile. The man actually looked forward to the future, actually had hope. He felt more convinced than ever that Dad would be all right.

_Then maybe it's time to . . ._

Jared looked away from his father, his eyes fixed on a spot on the wall. He slowly worked his jaw back and forth.

"Jared? Are you okay?"

He turned back to his father, his chest tightening. He never imagined what he wanted to say could be so difficult.

"Um, so . . . you're going to be okay, right?"

Dad gave him an odd look. "Yes. Yes, I'll be fine."

"Good. Good. 'Cause, um, well . . . now that we're done drilling you, I'm gonna be going back to work at the museum."

"I figured as much. Is that a problem?"

"No. Well, maybe. I mean, I was . . . well, I was thinking about going back to Thailand." His voice trailed off with the last few words.

"Thailand?" Dad raised a perplexed eyebrow. "I thought you didn't like it there."

"Well, yeah. But I, um, I wanted to give it another whirl. But I don't want to go if you're . . . I mean, I wanna make sure you're gonna be all right because . . ." He exhaled loudly. "Because last time I went to Thailand I . . . I abandoned you. You needed help, and I didn't know how to help you, so I just went halfway around the world so I wouldn't have to deal with it. I don't want to do that again."

Dad sighed and pushed himself off the couch. "Jared, you are not abandoning me. This family is a lot better off now than we were a year ago. _I'm_ a lot better. If I happen to go through a rough patch, I've got Esteban, I've got your Aunt Adelaide and Uncle Cesario, I've got Rosa. Trust me, I'll be fine. It's time for you to get on with your life. Go to Thailand, and this time, enjoy yourself."

A smile grew on Jared's face. "Thanks, Dad."

"Don't mention it." Dad clasped him on the shoulder. "Besides, there seems to be a former assistant of yours over there that's very anxious to see you again."

Jared's eyes widened. "Tasanee? But how do you -"

"Rosa told me about the letter you got from her the other day."

He groaned. "Rosa. Of course. Merlin forbid she can keep anything to herself."

"Now don't be like that. She told me about it because she cares about you and wants to see you happy. It sounds like Tasanee likes you, a lot. What about you?"

Jared shifted from one foot to the other. He wasn't used to having these sorts of conversations with his father, or anyone else for that matter. "Um, yeah. I like her. I like her a lot."

"Then get yourself the first available port key to Thailand." His father tacked on a grin.

"Well, like I said, I'd like to go to Thailand. Unfortunately, that's gonna be up to my boss at the museum, Mister Hurst, and the guy in charge of the dig in Thailand, Mister Prajak. And honestly, neither of them are big fans of mine."

A thoughtful expression formed on Dad's face. "I think there might be a way to guarantee that you go back to Thailand."

When he told Jared his idea, it made him wince. He didn't want to be one of those people who got what he wanted because of family connections.

Then he thought of Tasanee, imagined her beautiful face, thought of all those times she visited him in the hospital, thought about how much he wanted to see her again.

_Well, maybe just this once . . ._

**XXXXX**

Jared's feet slammed into the ground. The hurricane-like winds that had surrounded him for the past minute faded. He looked around at the lush jungle trees, and instantly felt the heat and stifling humidity wrap around him.

_Welcome back to Thailand._

He dropped the port key, disguised as a soup can, and headed down the dirt path toward the old Khmer wizarding village. He had to concentrate to maintain the Levitation Spell for his trunk. Thoughts of seeing Tasanee again filled his mind and made his heart pound furiously.

Jared soon entered the village. Dozens of witches and wizards made their way in and out of tents and stone ruins and large pits. A few turned his way, some he recognized. Not that they acknowledged him. Then again, his last time here he hadn't done much to endear himself to his fellow researchers.

_This time it'll be different._

He stopped one of the researchers, a Dutch witch, and asked where he could find Prajak. She pointed to a large beige tent on the eastern side of the village. When he entered it, he found the head of the expedition sitting at a desk, engrossed in a huge book.

Jared cleared his throat. "Um, Mister Prajak?"

Prajak looked up. He drew his head back in surprise, eyes widening. "Diaz? What are you doing back here?"

He forced himself not to make a face. _Nice to see you too, buddy. _"Um, well, I decided I wanted to work with your expedition again."

Prajak's face scrunched in bewilderment. "Why?"

_Because I want to be with Tasanee. _He kept that thought to himself. "Um, well, I heard you made some pretty interesting discoveries since I left, like the chamber with all those prophecies. I thought I'd come back and see if I could help."

Prajak tilted his head, looking unconvinced. "From what I remember, your work habits left much to be desired. In truth, you were lazy and unreliable."

Jared frowned. He couldn't really argue that point. "Yeah, well, I had some . . . stuff going on. This time I'll do a better job. You'll see."

"Do you expect me to simply take your word on that?"

"Well, I also have this." He reached into his robes and handed Prajak and piece of parchment. The Thai read it over, astonishment flashing across his face. Jared smiled, having pretty much memorized the letter.

_Dear Mr. Prajak,_

_It is my sincere hope that you will allow my nephew, Jared, to rejoin your expedition. Personal matters prevented him from putting his full effort into his work at the Khmer wizarding village. But I assure you, those problems have been resolved, and he is ready to become a valuable member of your expedition. Jared has the full confidence of Jennings Hurst, the Director of the Magical Museum of North America. Your Minister of Magic was also very happy to hear about my nephew's desire to study one of your country's ancient wizarding villages when I spoke with him the other day._

_I am sure you will find an appropriate place for Jared in your expedition. _

_Take care._

_Sincerely,_

_Cesario Infante_

_Secretary of Magic, United States of America_

Prajak stared back up at Jared, the surprise still plastered on his face. Jared just stared back at the man, doing his best to keep a smile off his face.

"Well, it helps to have relatives in positions of power, doesn't it?" Prajak grumbled.

Jared said nothing. He just shrugged. Inside he was bursting with joy. Few things in life could be as satisfying as sticking it to a boss you didn't like. And he had done it twice, the first time when Mr. Hurst had read a similar letter from Uncle Cesario.

After a groan of frustration, Prajak drew his wand and summoned a piece of parchment, one with a diagram of the village. He scanned it for a few seconds. "There is an available tent here, at the north end of the village. You can stay there. I will see which areas we need help in and assign you to one of them."

"Thanks, Mister Prajak."

Prajak just grunted in response.

Jared strutted out of the tent, a triumphant smile on his face. A flicker of worry went through him. What if Prajak assigned him some crap job here, just to spite him?

_Let him. _Right now, Prajak could do nothing to ruin his mood.

He did not go to his tent. Instead he wandered the village, asking any witch or wizard he passed where he could find Tasanee. Two of them spoke no English. Two others had no idea who Tasanee was. Finally, he found a wizard who spoke English _and _knew Tasanee's whereabouts.

"She's in Work Tent Number Six," the man told him in a thick Russian accent.

"Thanks." Jared hurried off in the direction the wizard pointed. Excitement swelled within him. So did anxiety. That anxiety spawned all sorts of fears. What if Rosa misinterpreted Tasanee's letter? What if she only liked him as a friend, instead of . . . more than a friend? What if she had a boyfriend?

He fought off those fears, thinking of Tasanee's last letter, the time they spent together during his recovery, their emotional good-bye in the hospital gardens.

Jared paused at the entrance to the tent. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves.

_Here goes nothing._

He grabbed the tent flap, flung it open, and went inside, his trunk floating behind him. He scanned the interior.

His chest tightened when he spotted Tasanee sitting at the middle table, examining what looked like a cauldron, only made out of stone instead of iron. Smiling, he proceeded down the aisle, his heartbeat growing louder the closer he got to her.

"Hey, Tasanee," he said, stopping just a couple feet from her.

She froze for a moment. Suddenly her head snapped around. Her entire face lit up.

"Jared." Tasanee quickly got to her feet, an excited look on her face. For a second, he expected her to throw her arms around him in a great big hug. Then he remembered how Thais generally frowned on public displays of affection. And there were several other witches and wizards in the tent with them, all looking in their direction. Most appeared annoyed that their work had been interrupted.

Tasanee seemed to sense this. Her lips tightened and she lowered her head as though embarrassed. She took a deep breath and stared back up at him. "It's so good to see you again," she lowered her voice, but Jared still detected happiness in her tone. "Did you just get here? Why didn't you tell me you were returning?"

"It's great to see you, too. I just port keyed in a few minutes ago, and why give you advanced warning when surprising you would be more fun?"

Tasanee softly giggled. "Well this is a surprise. A good one." She peered around him at his trunk. "Haven't you gone to your tent yet?"

"No. I . . . well, I wanted to see you first."

Tasanee turned away for a moment, a red hue on her cheeks. "Thank you. That's very nice of you."

"No problem. Actually, I was on my way to my new tent. I was wondering if, um, if you wanted to join me."

She looked over her shoulder at the stone cauldron on the table, then turned back to him and smiled. "I'd like that. Thank you."

They left the work tent and headed for Jared's new quarters. From the outside, it looked like a small, simple beige tent. The inside, however, contained a living room, bedroom and bathroom, though all three were rather small and furnished with just the bare essentials.

It didn't bother Jared one bit.

He lowered his trunk to the floor and looked over at Tasanee. Her smile widened, her eyes fixed on him. He swallowed, taking in her delicate features framed by her long, black hair. Again he thought of his stay at the hospital, how she visited him every day, how after a while seeing Tasanee was the only thing he looked forward to.

He rushed over to her and took her in his arms. Tasanee let out a surprised gasp before hugging him back.

"I missed you, Tasanee," he whispered in her ear.

"I missed you, too."

When they finally let go of one another, she asked. "Are you doing all right? Is your family well?"

"Yeah. Things are better. With me, with my aunt and uncle, with my Dad. Heh! Actually, he was the one who encouraged me to come back here."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I mean I really wanted . . . well, wanted to come back, you know. But I felt like if I did, I'd be abandoning Dad like I did the last time. He told me he was fine and to come back here."

"I'm happy to hear that. I hope things will be better for you this time in Thailand than when you were here last."

Jared sighed, the corners of his mouth twisting. "I want it to be. More importantly, I just . . . well, I just want to do right by you."

Tasanee's forehead crinkled. "I don't understand."

Jared bit his lip. He pointed toward the plain orange couch to their left. They both sat down.

"What I mean is, I want to be a better . . . friend to you." He inwardly winced, praying Tasanee didn't take that to mean he _only_ wanted to be her friend. "When I was here last time, I really treated you like cr . . . I mean, I was really nasty to you. And all you were trying to do was be nice to me. You didn't deserve that."

She frowned. "Jared, you've said all this to me before. You were going through difficult times. You had many family issues to deal with. I understand -"

"No." He cut her off. "Whatever was happening in my life, it was no excuse to be mean to you, or yell at you and make you cry. That . . . I really felt bad that I did that to you."

"I know." Tasanee reached out and covered his hand with hers. Electric tingles raced through his body.

Tasanee continued. "Do you remember what you said to me at the hospital the first day I came to see you? You said you wanted to have a fresh start with me."

"Yeah."

"Then let's just forget about all the . . . unpleasant things that happened between us your last time here."

He couldn't help but smile. "I'd like that. Believe me, I'd really like that."

"Good." She gently squeezed his hand. "You do seem much better since I last saw you. You seem . . . happier."

"Yeah, I guess I am. My dad's back at work. Not with SMACRAT, but he figures he'll rejoin them eventually."

"That's wonderful."

He nodded and continued. "And I made up with my aunt and uncle. And Rosa. Things are back to normal between us. Unfortunately, my brother and his wife are still separated."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Thanks. I'm just hoping that one day they'll get back together. Still, for the most part, I feel like things are back to the way they used to be with my family. It's just . . ." He bit his lip and turned away from Tasanee.

"What is it?"

Jared let out a slow breath. He didn't want to say what was on his mind. But when he looked back at Tasanee and saw the concern on her face, he felt his tongue loosen.

"I just feel like the last year of my life was . . . wasted. My mom was gone, my dad was depressed, and I didn't know what to do except be pissed off and run away to Thailand and retreat into my own little shell. And in the process, I turned into a grand prick. When I look back on the last year, I don't know, it's like I'm looking at someone else's life, 'cause that's just not how I am. Merlin, I feel like cursing myself for being such an idiot. Everything was falling apart, and I didn't give a crap. What's worse is, my family turned into a complete mess, and I didn't do a damn thing to help. I mean, we'd always been so tight knit. Then when my mom got killed, it was like she was the glue holding us all together. With her gone, it was like we all turned on one another, instead of coming together and helping each other like families are supposed to. I just wish I'd done . . . something to make things better. But that's me. A crisis comes up, and I just slink away and hope someone else can fix it."

"But you fought in the war. I thought that would make you used to dealing with a crisis."

Jared snorted. "Throwing curses and hexes at Death Eaters is a lot easier than dealing with . . . well, family stuff."

He glanced at Tasanee, embarrassment closing in around him. He couldn't believe he said all that stuff to her. Merlin, it made him sound like a wuss. And like Tasanee said, he had fought in a war, gone up against Death Eaters and trolls and Dementors and altered Chupacabra. People expected him to be strong, especially witches.

_Oh crap. Did I just ruin things with Tasanee?_

Instead she just stared at him. He saw nothing judgmental in her face. But he did sense other things. Understanding. Sympathy.

He sighed. "Sorry to unload all that on you."

"Don't be. Thank you for confiding in me."

Jared smiled at her. Whatever feelings of embarrassment he had soon vanished.

"I should be getting back to work." Tasanee rose, giving him an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. I'd . . . I'd really like to stay and talk more."

"Don't worry about it." He also stood. "We'll have lots of time to talk. Actually, if you want, um . . . would you like to have dinner with me tonight? I know it's just the meal tent, not exactly the greatest place in the world for a date. But, well, being in the middle of the jungle, I guess you have to make due with what you got."

The smile on Tasanee's face grew wider. "I would like that. I really would. Thank you."

"No, thank you. I'm really looking forward to being with y . . . being here, with you."

He saw Tasanee's Adam's apple bob. Her jaw quivered for a moment. She then stepped forward and hugged him. Jared closed his eyes, relishing the feel of her hair against his cheek. His heart hammered against his chest. Merlin's beard, this felt so good.

"I'll see you tonight, then," she said as they broke the hug.

Jared just nodded, staring at that beautiful, smiling face of hers. He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. He heard and felt Tasanee moan softly. Bolts of pure energy shot through him. He pulled his head back, taking in Tasanee's face again. Desire overwhelmed him. He came forward and kissed her full on the lips. When their mouths parted, he noticed her staring back at him with wide eyes, her shoulders rising and falling with rapid breaths. Fear clawed the back of his mind. Did he move too fast? Did he offend her?

"Um, I hope that was cool."

She took another breath and smiled. "Yes, that was . . . cool."

He smiled back, pulled Tasanee against him, and kissed her again.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	27. A Gathering Of Gryffindors

**CHAPTER 27 A GATHERING OF GRYFFINDORS**

* * *

"Will you sit down already. You're starting to make me nervous."

Jimmy O'Bannon stopped pacing the living room of The Burrow and turned to George, who sat on a coach next to Mireet. The lanky redhead eyed him with concern.

"I still don't know about this, man." He gazed at the floor in thought before looking up. "I think it might be easier to do this one at a time."

"And I think it would be better to get this all over with in one fell swoop."

O'Bannon worked his jaw back and forth, considering George's words. It sounded logical, but . . . "I just think we might be asking for trouble, having so many people in one room who, right now, aren't very fond of me."

"Oh relax, Jimmy," said Ginny, who sat with Harry on a love seat behind him. "Do you really think they're going to start throwing curses at you in here? They wouldn't dare do anything to damage our house."

_Yeah, instead they'll just drag me outside and hex the living hell out of me._

"Well we didn't curse you the other night at supper," noted Ron, who was in an old, overstuffed chair on the other side of the living room. Hermione sat in the chair next to him. "Honestly, some of us would have liked to, but after you and George patched things up, the rest of us fell in line. Maybe that'll happen with them."

"Besides, if they do try anything, we'll protect you." Ginny tacked on a grin.

O'Bannon briefly chuckled. It was nice to know he had the support of the people in this room, especially since during the past year he felt they wouldn't want anything to do with him ever again.

"Jimmy, come." Mireet patted the space on the couch beside her. "Sit."

She scooted over to give him enough room. O'Bannon sat next her. His eyes flickered between his folded hands and the clock above the fireplace. Part of him wanted their guests to arrive right now, another part hoped they wouldn't show up at all.

Five long minutes passed before someone knocked on the door. George took a long breath before he pushed himself off the couch. Tension threatened to crush O'Bannon as he watched his friend head to the door and open it.

"Hey, guys."

"Hi, George."

"George."

O'Bannon held his breath when he recognized the voices. The first belonged to Lee Jordan. He remembered when Mireet had gone to talk to him, Lee made it clear he wanted nothing to do with him.

The second voice made him even tenser. It was Angelina Johnson, who had welcomed him back to England with a fist to the face. Anger bubbled up inside him as he recalled her comments about him in Rita Skeeter's hit piece.

"What's he doing here?" Angelina aimed a harsh gaze at him.

O'Bannon glared right back at her, the sense of betrayal threatening to explode inside him. He clenched his fists, fighting back the urge to lash out at Angelina. His eyes shifted to George. He had put this Gryffindor pow wow together. He wanted everyone to put these ill feelings behind them.

Out of consideration for George, he kept his anger toward Angelina in check.

"Yeah, what's going on here, George?" Lee looked at the redhead. "I thought you were done with this guy."

"I'll explain when everyone else gets here."

"Well, forget it." Angelina's face twisted into a scowl. "I don't want any sort of explanation. I don't want to be in the same room with this bastard." She started to turn away.

"Ang, wait!" George grabbed her by the shoulder.

"Get off! How could you? He spat on Fred's memory. Spat on the lot of us. How can you just forget about that?"

"It's called forgiveness. Something I want the rest of you to do."

Angelina shook her head emphatically. "Not a chance in hell."

"Ang!" George stepped in front of her, blocking her path. "Please. For me. For Fred."

Angelina let out a very slow, very audible breath. She glared at O'Bannon, then turned back to George. "Fine," she practically hissed.

A couple minutes later Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet showed up. Neither girl looked pleased to see him, but did not react with anything close to the hostility Angelina had exhibited. A minute later, in walked Dean Thomas, his girlfriend Luna Lovegood, and Seamus Finnigan. Seamus looked at him with more surprise than anger. "Jimmy," he quietly nodded to him.

"Hey, Jimmy," Dean said with a smile.

_Well that's a good sign._

Luna looked like she was in a daze. Then again, she always looked that way.

"Hello, Jimmy. Oh. Is this going to be a party? You know, Dean has taught me some wonderful Muggle party games. Has anyone heard of Twister?"

O'Bannon couldn't help but chuckle to himself. _Luna Lovegood, the ultimate ice breaker at parties._

"Um, sweetheart." Dean scanned the other Gryffindor guests, no doubt taking note of their unsmiling faces. "I have a feeling we're not here to have a party."

"Oh, what a shame. Parties can be such fun."

Once everyone took their seats – with Dean and Luna sharing a single chair – George stood in the center of the room.

"Um, thanks for coming, everyone. I guess you have an idea why we're all here." He glanced at O'Bannon. So did everyone else in the room. He couldn't help but wince under so many judgmental stares.

The corners of George's mouth twitched before he continued. "I know over the past year we've had our reasons to be mad at Jimmy. Maybe he deserved our anger. Even he admits that. But I . . . I just think this has gone on long enough. I think it's time we forgive him."

Lee's and Alicia's eyes bulged in surprise. Katie slowly rotated her head between George and O'Bannon. Angelina folded her arms and glared at the floor.

"You can't be serious," Katie blurted. "George, I remember how hurt you were when Jimmy turned his back on you, on all of us. How can you just forgive him like that?"

"Because he's my friend. He's _our _friend."

Katie snorted. "He's got a funny way of showing it. Running off to the Muggle World to forget about everyone who died in the war."

"Well now he's back," George said. "He's come all the way from America to apologize for doing what he did. That has to count for something. That, and everything we went through together at Hogwarts."

"All the more reason he should have stayed." This from Alicia. "We all needed each other to help get through everything we went through during the war. But what did he do?" She aimed a harsh gaze in Jimmy's direction. "He left us."

"In all fairness, Alicia, Jimmy does live in America. It's not like he can pop on over any time he wants to see how we're fairing."

"He could have still sent a letter, given us an overseas Floo call. But we didn't even get that."

"You're right," O'Bannon spoke up. "I should have done that. And I'm sorry I didn't. I'm sorry I turned my back on you guys, on this entire world, especially after everything we went through. Look, all I can say is that I'm sorry, and if you want me to say it a thousand times, or a million times, before you forgive me, then I will."

Katie bit her lip, her gaze falling to her shoes.

"There are some times where sorry isn't good enough," Angelina snapped. "And this is one of those times."

"So what do you what to do, Ang?" George flung his arms out to his sides. "Hit him again? I did that in the shop just last week."

Surprise flashed across the faces of all their Gryffindor guests. Obviously George hadn't told any of them about that incident.

"Yeah, that's right. Jimmy came back to my shop, we had words, and I started punching him. I thought it'd make me feel good, that I'd feel satisfied. Instead I felt . . . well, I didn't feel any of those things. Instead I wondered how things could have gotten so bad that I'm beating up a guy I used to consider one of my best mates."

"You should have kept beating him up if you ask me." Anger lines etched in Angelina's face.

George turned to her, his face stiffening.

Before he could respond, Harry spoke up. "Knock it off, Angelina. Jimmy made a mistake. We all handled the war in different ways. You think I never thought about just packing it in and leaving this world forever?"

"But you didn't leave, Harry," Katie pointed out.

"No, but I did seriously think about it." Harry glanced over at Ginny, who frowned momentarily. "Even so, Ginny or Ron or George can tell you there were plenty of times I locked myself in my room here, not wanting to come out, not wanting to face the Weasleys because I felt they blamed me for Fred's death. Some days I'd just grab my broom and go flying. Just fly anywhere, just to get away from here, because I thought that's what everyone here wanted, for me to get out of their sight. But you know what? All that time I spent running away from here, or avoiding the Weasleys, I could have been with them doing what I could to help. To this day, I feel bad about that."

Ginny reached over and took hold of Harry's hand.

Alicia, Katie and Lee all looked away from Harry, from everyone for that matter. Traces of embarrassment crept over their faces.

"I know what you mean, Harry," said Seamus. "After the war, I spent a lot of time just walking around me hometown. Just walking. Being around Muggles, doing Muggle things. Anything to forget about the war, everything that happened at Hogwarts. There was more than one time I though about going down to the river and throwing me wand into it so I wouldn't have anything more to do with magic."

"I'll tell you this." Dean slowly ran a hand up and down Luna's leg. "If it weren't for Luna, I might have decided to leave this world, or do something even worse. I remember one night, I practically begged Luna to obliviate my memories of the night those Snatchers came to our camp and . . . and killed Ted Tonks and Dirk Cresswell. She refused, saying that I shouldn't forget them since they gave up their lives to save mine. I even tried to obliviate myself. Thankfully Luna's pretty good with an _Expelliarmus. _I . . . I just remember screaming at her. Blimey, I can't remember another time in my life I was so . . . furious. Called her names, said if she really loved me she'd let me get those memories out of my head. After all that, she forgave me. I still don't know why."

"It's because I love you," Luna stated. "And you were going through a very difficult time. It's understandable you wouldn't be acting like yourself."

Dean smiled at her and snaked his arms around her waist. "I really don't deserve you, luv, you know that?" He leaned in and kissed her.

"Harry and Hermione forgave me." Ron muttered. He then looked up, his eyes sweeping over everyone in the room. "You lot know what a right git I was to those two at Hogwarts. I accused Hermione's cat of killing Scabbers, didn't talk to her for months. I thought Harry was lying when he said he didn't put his name in the Goblet of Fire to enter the Tri-Wizard Tournament, didn't talk to him for months. And then that whole thing with Lavender Brown my Sixth Year." He winced, giving an apologetic look to Hermione. "Yeah, well, not my best moment. I know I really hurt her. But she still forgave me. They both did. Even when I left them when we were looking for the Horcruxes. That was in the middle of a war. They needed me, and I just left. But still they forgave me. That last one is probably even worse than anything Jimmy did. I didn't even realize all that until George accepted Jimmy's apology. So, if Harry and Hermione can forgive me after I did all that . . ."

A smile formed on O'Bannon's face. Any one of those things would be enough for someone to just drop Ron and have nothing to do with him forever. Yet Harry and Hermione had forgiven him for each and every one of those transgressions.

Did the other Gryffindors have hearts just as big?

"You know, I remember something Hermione said my last year at Hogwarts," George said. "It was right around the start of the term, and we were talking about the war and how most folks at school were treating Harry, not believing him about Voldemort's return."

O'Bannon noticed Seamus sigh and turn away. He had been one of those students, one of the more vocal ones.

George continued. "She said that one of the tactics Voldemort likes to use is to have friends turn on each other. We didn't do that when the war really got bad. But we're doing it now when we don't have Voldemort or Death Eaters or anything like that to worry about. Doesn't make much sense, does it?"

Silence hung over the room. The Gryffindors either looked at the floor, or at one another.

Seamus exhaled loudly and got to his feet. Moments later Dean lifted Luna off his lap and stood. Both boys walked over to O'Bannon, who also rose.

"I don't hold want you did against ya, Jimmy."

"Me neither." Dean extended his hand. "Friends?"

A smile grew across O'Bannon's face. "You bet."

They not only shook hands, but also gave one another manly hugs, with more back pounding than embracing.

Lee came over next, followed by Katie and Alicia.

"Maybe it is time to put all this behind us," Lee said. "If we can't forgive you, then going by what Hermione said, in a way, Voldemort wins. Can't have that, can we?"

"No." O'Bannon shook his head. "We can't."

Lee smiled as the two of them shook hands and hugged.

"George is right." Alicia wrapped her arms around him. "Everyone's right. I forgive you, Jimmy."

Katie hugged him next. "I forgive you, too. Honestly, I don't think Fred would want us to hate you for the rest of our lives."

"How do you know what Fred would want? He's dead!"

Everybody's heads whipped around to Angelina. She glared at them, anger mixing with the tears in her eyes.

"You're all barking mad if you think I'll ever forgive him!" She stabbed a finger at O'Bannon. "I . . . I loved Fred!" Tears slid down her cheeks. "He was the most wonderful man I ever met. He deserves to be remembered forever, not to be forgotten like this bastard wanted to!"

"Ang." An edge crept into George's voice. "I know Fred meant a lot to you. But I have more reason than anyone to hate Jimmy forever, and I forgave him. The least you can do is -"

"Never!" Angelina slashed her hand in front of her. "Besides, who's to say Rita Skeeter was wrong? Maybe he does want to apologize to us to make himself more famous."

"You actually believe that bullcrap she wrote?" O'Bannon's eyes narrowed.

"Maybe I do. You have no problem wanting to forget about dead friends. Who knows what else you're capable of?"

A stunned look formed on O'Bannon's face. He shook his head. "My God, Ang. I know you're pissed at me, but use your head."

"Don't tell me what to do!" Angelina shook with rage. "I hope everyone who read that article believed it! I hope they all hate you as much as I do!"

"Is that what you want?" He started toward her, only to have George grab his shoulder and Katie place both hands on his chest. It stopped his forward progress, but not his anger. "It's not enough for you or the rest of the Triad to be mad at me, you gotta air our dirty laundry to the world and get wizards and witches we don't know hating me? Even worse, you do it with Rita Skeeter? Did you forget all the crap she wrote about the Triad? Or about Harry and Hermione? Is that how much you wanted to stab me in the back?"

"You stabbed all of us in the back when you left the Wizarding World!"

"And I said I'm sorry! What more do you want from me?"

"Nothing! I don't want a damn thing from you! Ever!"

Angelina stomped toward the door and flung it open. She didn't even close it as she vanished into the night.

All eyes focused on the door as a sob cut through the darkness. No one spoke. O'Bannon breathed slowly through his nose. The fury he'd felt during his screaming match with Angelina did not diminish. If anything, it grew. His Gryffindor friends had finally forgiven him. He wanted to be happy about it.

Instead he could only feel angry at Angelina.

He thought about George, how he had forgiven him. He thought about Ron's tale, how Harry and Hermione had forgiven him for things most would find unforgivable.

_I should feel that way about Angelina._

But the little voice in the back of his mind was smothered by his anger. He thought about the quotes Angelina had given Rita Skeeter for her article, recalled the words his former friend had said to him just a few minutes ago, and redirected them at her.

"_There are some times where sorry isn't good enough, and this is one of those times."_

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	28. The Power Of Laughter

**CHAPTER 28: THE POWER OF LAUGHTER**

* * *

O'Bannon had just finished tying his shoes when he heard a knock on the door.

"I got it," he called to Mireet, who was still in the bathroom. He went over to the door and opened it to find George Weasley standing there.

"Mornin', Jimmy."

"Hey, George. Mireet's still getting ready. She should be done in a few minutes. C'mon in."

"Thanks." George stepped inside and looked around the hotel room. He started to wince, then stopped. "Um . . . so this is where you're staying."

"Yeah, well, it ain't The Ritz, but it's the best we can do right now."

George shot him a quizzical look. "The Ritz?"

"A Muggle phrase. Nevermind. Anyway, thanks for inviting us to breakfast."

"It's the least I can do. Besides, The Leaky Cauldron makes great potato cakes."

O'Bannon winced. "Um, dude. You do know that me and Mireet are banned from The Leaky Cauldron."

"Not to worry." George held up a calming hand. "I had a talk with Tom," he referred to the pub's owner, "and gave him my word as a wizard that you two would be on your best behavior."

"Thanks, man. I really appreciate that."

"Don't mention it. I'm always happy to help a friend."

A bolt of joy went through him. How many times had he feared he would never hear George refer to him as a friend? George and Lee and Ginny and Ron and Katie and the other Gryffindors. At times he still couldn't believe they had all resolved their differences.

Except Angelina.

Bitterness slithered through him. Angelina seemed determined to hate him for the rest of her life. Part of him wanted to be upset about that, but then he thought of the comments she gave that lying bitch Rita Skeeter for her article. Being pissed off at a friend was one thing. But stabbing him in the back like that . . .

He found it hard to put any more effort into reconciling with Angelina.

Mireet came out of the bathroom a minute later and greeted George with light kisses to both cheeks. The trio left the inn and Apparated to The Leaky Cauldron. Nervous ripples went through O'Bannon as he noticed Tom's eyes lock on him the moment he entered the pub. He gave him a small wave, along with the most disarming smile he could pull off. Tom just glared at him.

A witch seated them and took their orders.

"So what do you two plan to do with yourselves today?" George asked as they waited for their food.

O'Bannon shrugged. "We haven't really thought about it."

"Well, I can't think of anyone else you need to seek forgiveness from. Maybe it's time for you to enjoy the rest of your stay in England. Speaking of which, how much longer do you plan on staying?"

O'Bannon glanced over at Mireet, then turned back to George. "Um, to be honest, we haven't really talked about it yet. But, I don't think we're gonna be here much longer. Like you said, we've patched things up with everyone we need to. I know Mireet wants to spend some time in France, and we still need to go to Bulgaria to see Harkorth and the other Durmstrang guys from the Triad."

George nodded. He gazed at the table for several seconds before speaking. "Still, all that shouldn't take the rest of the summer to do."

"No, I guess not." O'Bannon's brow furrowed, wondering what George was getting at.

"Well, . . . I was thinking how it just won't do for you to come all the way to England, make up with everyone . . . most everyone, and then up and leave. You might do well to stay the rest of the summer, split your time between here and The Continent, get reacquainted with everyone."

"Yeah, I wouldn't mind doing that. But I don't think we have enough money to stay in Europe for the rest of the summer."

A brief smile flashed over George's face. "Not to worry. You know, I do have a spare room over the shop. You're more than welcome to it."

Mireet let out a soft gasp. "George, that is so kind of you. But we do not want to impose on you."

"Well since we're all friends again, you won't be imposing. Come on, I insist."

O'Bannon looked to Mireet. She pressed her lips together in thought, then gave him a slight nod.

"All right, man. Consider us your new tenants."

"Wonderful." George sat up straighter. "Also, and this is entirely up to you, I could always use some help in the shop. If you two wouldn't mind . . ."

"Since we will be staying with you, I think it only fair that we earn our keep," Mireet said. "I would be delighted to work for you."

A wry grin crossed O'Bannon's lips. "Well, even though it means I'd have to call you Boss." He gave a faux grimace, which George chuckled at softly. "I'm down with being a proud employee of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes."

"Brilliant." George's smile grew wider. "This ought to be fun. You two, me, Ron, all together again. It'll be just like it was back at Hogwarts."

Suddenly George froze. His smile faded and his shoulders sagged.

"George?" Mireet tilted her head, a concerned look on her face. "Are you all right?"

He stared up at her, his smile replaced by a grimace. "Um . . . yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

Mireet didn't seem to buy it. Neither did O'Bannon. As their food appeared in front of them, he could guess why George's mood had changed so quickly. He had been wrong when he said this would be just like their days together at Hogwarts, because one important part of that time was missing.

Fred.

**XXXXX**

That night, O'Bannon and Mireet checked out of McAuliffe's Marvelous Inn and moved into the guest room above George's shop. The next day, they donned the standard-issue magenta robes and began their first day of work for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. As George showed them around the shop, O'Bannon kept shaking his head in amazement. Back at Hogwarts, he had always been impressed by the stuff the twins had come up with, even the ones he'd fallen victim to like the Canary Creams and the Sit-And-Scratch Chair.

Now he realized he'd only seen a fraction of their products back at Hogwarts. The sheer scope of their creativity blew his mind. George introduced him and Mireet to dozens of items he never even knew the twins had come up with. Headless Hats, Box O'Rockets, Tickling Quills, Reverse Temperature Drink Coasters – _Makes Hot Drinks Cold And Cold Drinks Hot – _Troll In A Box, which when opened, had a troll head pop out and give a big, sloppy wet kiss to whoever held the box.

_Remind me to stay away from that thing._

Along with marveling at all the stuff in George's shop, he had to memorize their locations in order to better aid customers. He and Mireet also learned how to use the cash register, take inventory, process mail orders, and make the numerous prank candies.

The first few days, while enjoyable, did have its rough spots. O'Bannon had to refer several customer inquiries to George, Ron or their assistant Verity because he couldn't remember the locations of the products they'd asked for. He'd accidentally let loose a Squirting Snitch that zipped around the store and sprayed Ron and half-a-dozen customers with a clear liquid that transformed their mouths into a duck's bill. Then there was the day he knocked over a box of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. A cloud of impenetrable black spread through the entire store. Ron had groped around in the darkness, demanding to know what was happening, and unwittingly grabbed Mireet's . . . well, grabbed her in a rather inappropriate place. It took a whole week before he could even look at either of them, let alone speak to them. When he did, he apologized profusely, and begged that they never tell Hermione about the incident. Ever.

Before long, O'Bannon's mistakes were few and far between. He had the locations of 95 percent of the shop's merchandise memorized. He also became very adept at making prank candies. The shop always had a steady stream of customers, though Verity told him it was nothing compared to the two weeks prior to the start of term at Hogwarts. "That's when we're absolutely mobbed," she had said.

At the start of his third week working at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, O'Bannon had demonstrated a fake wizarding wireless that produced all sorts of obscene sounds, and the smells that went with them, to a boy named Euan Abercrombie, who would be starting his Sixth Year at Hogwarts in less than two months. After he made the sale he took out his wand and conjured a jet of wind that carried with it the scent of peppermint.

"Man," he said to Ron, who stood next to him. "As disgusting as that is, it is still friggin' funny."

"He's done better," Ron muttered.

Brow furrowed, he turned to him. "What was that?"

Ron whipped his head toward him, looking embarrassed that he'd been heard. He frowned and stared at the floor. "I mean, the stuff George comes up with. It's good, but . . . it's just not the same."

"Dude, what are you talking about? Look around this place. Look at all the cool stuff we've got. I'll bet'cha Fred and George didn't even come up with half of it until after I left Hogwarts."

"It's rubbish!"

A bewildered look came over O'Bannon's face as he watched Ron spin around and stomp into the back room. The outburst also caught the attention of Verity and two customers.

He followed Ron through the curtain. The youngest Weasley boy continued to walk away from him.

"Ron. Yo, Ron! What was all that about? What do you mean this stuff is rubbish?"

Ron stopped, his shoulders rising and falling with a slow breath. He turned around to face him. "A wizarding wireless that farts? Fred and George could have made that when they were First Years. Merlin's beard, George helped come up with a Portable Swamp and Shield Hats. That stuff was brilliant. Now . . . it's like with . . . with Fred gone, he's just not as creative as he used to be."

"I don't know. The place is still successful."

"But for how long if the best he can come up with are farting wireless sets and quills that tickle you? Course, if he still enjoyed working here, he might get some better ideas."

"What are you talking about?"

Lines of annoyance etched in Ron's freckled face. "You've been here nearly three weeks now, Jimmy. You must have noticed the way he acts by now."

With that, Ron retreated further into the back room until he was out of sight.

O'Bannon just stared after him, face scrunched, completely baffled. George seemed okay. He smiled at customers, laughed with customers. If anything, he seemed better in his shop than he did outside it.

Then he folded his arms and recalled all those scenes. Now that he thought more about it, many of those smiles seemed forced. And his laughter. Certainly nowhere near as hearty as it had been back at Hogwarts. In fact, sometimes he seemed to cut his laughter off in an instant, almost like he felt he shouldn't be doing it.

He also started thinking about the products throughout the shop, at least the newer ones. He compared them to some of the things he'd seen Fred and George experiment with back at Hogwarts. Kissing snowmen in the images of Hermione Granger and Viktor Krum. Snot-Rocket Specials. A spell that made you see guys in women's underwear. Back then they seemed to constantly push the envelope with their gag products.

That didn't appear to be the case now with most of George's newer stuff.

Even more worrisome was the fact George could not be genuinely happy working in a shop filled with items meant to make people laugh.

Later that night in their room, he told Mireet what Ron had said to him.

"I just wish there was some way to help him." He scooted forward on the couch, resting his clasped hands on his lap.

"I don't know if there is a way to help him," said Mireet, who sat next to him.

"You helped me, and look what a mess I was."

"That is true. But your problem was you would not talk about what was troubling you. George does. But it does not seem to help him much."

"I guess. I mean, he does seem better than when we saw him at the dedication ceremony last year. He's not as withdrawn, he's more talkative, but when you consider what Ron said, well, he's certainly not the same George we knew at Hogwarts."

Mireet frowned. "I don't think he will ever be that George again."

O'Bannon scrunched his eyebrows together as he stared at her. "That doesn't sound very hopeful."

"I'm sorry. What I mean is, at Hogwarts, George had Fred, who was more than a friend or a brother. He was his twin. They were inseparable, to the point neither of us could think of them as just Fred or just George. They were always Fred and George. Fred was a part of George. How can anyone get over losing part of themselves? It . . . it is the same with my father. Mother has told me he used to be a much warmer and sociable person before Markese was killed. He has gotten better, obviously. But he is not the same as he once was."

O'Bannon sank back into the couch. Maybe it was foolish to hope George would go back to being the way he'd been at Hogwarts. He thought of himself now compared to what he'd been like almost six years ago. After everything he'd been through, all the pain and loss he'd experienced, there was no way he could ever be like his 16-year-old self again. He'd gotten better at dealing with everything that had happened during the war, but that period of hell had changed him, permanently in some regards.

George, however, still could not bring himself to fully cope with Fred's death. And O'Bannon had no idea how to help him do that.

**XXXXX**

Two days later, during a relatively slow period in the day, George sent O'Bannon and Ron into the back to do an inventory of the Muggle joke items the store sold.

"It's been a while since we did one," George explained, "since we don't sell very many of them."

O'Bannon took one shelf, Ron another. He couldn't help but smile at the merchandise George kept in stock. Some of it was lame even by Muggle standards, like fake vomit and goofy-nose glasses. The red hot gum seemed to be doing well, since there was only half-a-box left. Same with the sneezing powder. Plenty of Whoopee Cushions and joy buzzers, though.

He then came to a box of little plastic handguns and picked one up.

"Here, I don't remember seeing those before." Ron stepped over to him. "What are they?"

"They're water pistols."

"Pistols?" Ron's face lit up in recognition. "Hang on. Hermione told me about those things. That's another name the Muggles have for guns, right?"

"Yeah?"

"And I guess you can shoot these particular ones underwater?"

"What? No, these things shoot water."

Ron's face crinkled in puzzlement. "I thought guns shot, um, _bowl-ecks."_

"Bullets. And the real ones do. Actually, these are more toys than a joke item. I wonder why George would have these."

Another thing he found curious was the color of the water pistols. The ones he'd played with as a kid had been one uniform color like green or red or orange. This one, however, had a polka dot surface. The other pistols also had unique color schemes. One had zebra stripes. Another reminded him of rainbow sherbet. Yet another sported purple and green zigzags.

"So how does it work?" asked Ron.

"Simple. You just pull back the little stopper thing here, then just fill it with water." He accomplished the last part taking out his wand and casting an Aquamenti Charm. After pushing the stopper back in, he looked back up at Ron. "Okay. Now we're ready to -"

"Jimmy." Mireet suddenly appeared, striding down the aisle. "I just received an owl from Katie. She wants to know if it would be all right if we met her and her boyfriend for dinner this Saturday at six o'clock instead of five."

O'Bannon didn't respond. He just stared at her, then looked down at the water pistol, then back at Mireet. Evil thoughts floated through his head.

_I shouldn't. She'll kill me._

Again, his eyes flickered between the water pistol and Mireet.

_Fred and George, you guys have thoroughly corrupted me._

He raised the water pistol and squirted his girlfriend.

"Jimmy!" Mireet jumped back, a shocked look on her face. "What has gotten into you?"

"Sorry, I couldn't help myself." He chuckled. "C'mon, hon. It's only water."

Mireet scowled at him as she removed her wand and cast a Drying Charm on herself. All the while she muttered something in French, something that did not sound very pleasant.

_I am so gonna pay for this later._ Still, he couldn't help but grin widely as he used his wand to evaporate the remaining water in the pistol and put it back with the rest. "Well, I think George has enough of these things. Moving on . . ."

He was about to continue down the aisle when he noticed Ron standing statue still, gaping in Mireet's direction.

"Dude, what up?"

Ron did not respond. His eyes bulged even more.

"Dude! You okay?" Perplexed, O'Bannon followed Ron's gaze.

His jaw dropped at the sight before him.

"Oh crap."

Mireet was covered in polka dots. Her face, her hair, her robes. Every square inch of her body sported dozens of multi-colored circles.

Just like the water pistol he had used to squirt her.

_Crap! That damn thing was charmed!_

"Why are you both staring at me like that?" Mireet asked, her eyes narrowing at them.

O'Bannon's mouth went up and down wordlessly. He looked to Ron, who seemed even less likely to respond. Neck muscles sticking out, he turned back to Mireet and drew a slow breath.

"Um . . . because we're captivated by your . . . beauty?"

Mireet's face scrunched in a mix of bewilderment and annoyance.

"Oi!" George rounded the corner and started toward them. "You two done with . . . the . . ." His voice faded as he came to a stop, gawking at the polka dot covered Mireet.

The French witch swung around to him. "Not you too. What is wrong with you men?"

George tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong with us? Um, you may want to take a look at yourself, _Mademoiselle."_

Letting out a long, irritated sigh, Mireet looked down at her robes. Her eyes widened. She blurted something in French, something that denoted surprise, or maybe anger. Probably both. She examined her sleeves and her hands. Then she held out one of her polka dot covered hands and used her wand to conjure a mirror. When she brought it up to her face, she gasped again, her jaw about to hit the floor.

O'Bannon gulped. _I'm so dead. I'm deader than disco._

Mireet spun around to face him, nostrils flaring. She dissipated the mirror in her left hand, while her right hand clutched her wand tightly. Very, very tightly.

O'Bannon forced a smile. "Um, you know, you really make polka dots look sexy, sweetheart."

Mireet's shoulders rose and fell with slow, angry breaths. Suddenly her wand snapped up. O'Bannon brought his arms up in front of his face.

"_Accio Water Pistol."_

One of the little plastic guns flew out of the box and into Mireet's hand, the one with zebra stripes. Off to the side, he noticed George chuckling to himself.

"Oh look." She held it in front of her face, inspecting it. "This has the same colors as that baseball team you hate. The Yankees."

O'Bannon's eyes widened. Dread coursed through him. "Aw no. C'mon, hon."

Mireet used an Aquamenti Charm to fill he pistol.

"I can't wear those colors. I'd get booted right out of Red Sox Nat-"

Two streams of water nailed him just below the neck.

"Aw crap!" Within seconds black and white stripes covered his entire body.

George hacked out a laugh.

"And what do you think is so funny?" Mireet whirled around on him.

"I see you found my Wacky Water Coloring Guns." George's smile grew by the second. "Had to get special clearance from the Ministry's Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department to put charms on them. Hmm, must've gotten put on the regular Muggle shelf by mistake. Oh well, they certainly work as advertised, wouldn't you agree?" He emitted another sputtering laugh.

Mireet scowled, summoned over another water pistol and filled it.

"Now hang on a tic, Miss Miradeaux. I am your boss and -"

She squirted him. Seconds later George's robes and skin turned into a kaleidoscope of hot pink and green.

O'Bannon pointed at him and exploded with laughter. "Oh, dude! And I thought I looked stupid."

George summoned a water pistol for himself. In less than a minute the three were leaping and crouching around the aisle, constantly summoning pistols and squirting one another. Different patterns sprouted all over them. Mireet's polka dots combined with spirals of canary yellow and blue. Waves and stripes of purple, orange and red covered George. Silver, gold and green diamonds and squiggly lines mingled with O'Bannon's pinstripes.

"Look at you two!" George got off two squirts. "You look ridiculous!"

"Us? What about you?"

All three of them stopped. They looked down at themselves, then at each other, examining the misshapen patterns of different colors.

A laugh exploded from George's mouth. Strong, loud. He doubled over, dropping both his wand and water pistol, laughing so hard he shook.

O'Bannon threw his head back and joined in the laughter. Even Mireet had forgotten her anger and added her laughs to the air. Before long both O'Bannon's throat and stomach began to hurt. He tried to stop and give himself some time to recover. Then he heard George's bellowing laughter and continued with his own, to the point tears formed in his eyes.

A magenta flash streaked by the corner of his eye.

Gasping for breath, he looked up and noticed Ron, the only one of them not sporting a crazy color scheme, storming off, his head down.

"Oi! Ickle Ronniekins," George called out. "Where are you off to?"

Ron didn't answer as he disappeared from sight.

"Ron?" George straightened up, staring in the direction his brother had gone.

The laughter soon faded. O'Bannon's face twisted in puzzlement. He knew Ron was the king of mood swings, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out what would make him stomp off like that. All they'd been doing was laughing.

"Um . . . I will go check on him," Mireet volunteered as she headed after Ron.

**XXXXX**

Mireet scanned the front of the shop and found no sign of Ron. She shook her head. What could have upset him so? They had been having a good time in the back, laughing with one another. When was the last time they had done that together?

She then remembered that Ron had not participated in their water fight. Did he feel they excluded him?

_Nonsense. He could have joined in at any time._

Maybe Ron did not know that. She remembered from Hogwarts how he usually felt left out and overlooked. Perhaps they should have encouraged him to join in the fun.

"Verity." She spotted the witch near a display stack of Skiving Snackboxes. "Have you seen Ron?"

"Oh yes. He was headed upstairs. Is he all right? He looked rather out of sorts."

"I will see to him. _Merci_, Verity."

The other witch smiled and nodded to her.

Mireet walked behind the cash register and headed up the steps. She found Ron halfway upstairs, sitting on a step, his head hovering over his knees.

"Ron? Ron, are you all right?"

He looked up at her. Mireet froze when she noticed how red Ron's eyes were. She tensed. Something had to be very, very wrong for Ron to come close to crying.

"Ron?"

He shifted uncomfortably and stared at the wall.

Mireet sat on the step just under him and placed a hand on his knee. "Ron, why did you leave like that?"

No answer.

"You could have joined us, too. We were not excluding you. I apologize if we gave you that impression."

"It's not that." Ron's gaze remained on the wall.

"Then what is it?"

Ron bit his lip and turned back to her. "He . . . he laughed."

"Who? George?"

Ron nodded. "I mean, he really laughed. Like, back at Hogwarts. It's like he was really enjoying himself, not pretending to for all our benefit. I don't think he's laughed like that since . . . well, since Fred died."

A smile grew on Mireet's face. "I'm glad to hear it. Perhaps he is getting better."

"You did it, you know. You and Jimmy. You actually got him to laugh like he used to."

"I do not know about that. It was not something we planned. It just happened, and -"

Mireet gasped in surprised as Ron shot forward and wrapped his arms around her.

"Thank you." His voice sounded strained. "Thank you."

Mireet hugged him back, tears forming in her eyes. "I am just happy we could help in some way."

After a minute or so, Ron drew back, looking embarrassed. She knew he'd never been much of a hugger.

"Um, yeah. Um, thanks." His eyes darted all over the place. "Um, could you, um, do me a favor, Mireet?"

"Anything."

"Um, could you please not tell George . . . actually, could you not tell anyone about . . . this?"

She gave him a sympathetic smile and gently squeezed his arm. "You have my word."

"Thanks." He managed a quick grin before exhaling and getting back to his feet.

A few minutes after they returned to the shop, and Jimmy and George were convinced Ron was all right, George decided to take advantage of their recent water fight. He grabbed the box of Wacky Water Coloring Pistols and paraded around the store, with Jimmy and her in tow.

"Don't just feel blue, folks!" he shouted to the customers. "Feel red and orange and yellow and green and any other color you can think of. Wacky Water Coloring Pistols! A combination of Muggle and Wizard ingenuity! Step right up! Free demonstrations!"

The free demonstrations consisted of George or one of the customers squirting Mireet or Jimmy or Ron or Verity and turning them all sorts of colors and patterns. She did not mind at all, not with all the laughter echoing through the store, the loudest of which belonged to George.

Then there was Jimmy, laughing right along with everyone else. Genuinely laughing. As with George, she had a hard time remembering the last time Jimmy laughed in such a way. These past three years had not given any of them much to laugh about. But now . . .

"C'mon, try it with one in each hand." A smiling Jimmy handed a pair of water pistols to a young boy. "Just like they do in Muggle action movies."

He stood back and let the boy squirt him with both guns, laughing as erratic patterns of violet, bronze, yellow and red covered him.

A lump formed in her throat. Could it be she finally had the real Jimmy O'Bannon back?

**XXXXX**

"Damn, how long does it take for this stuff to fade?" O'Bannon examined his clothes and skin. Most of the crazy patterns had faded, but he still had a bluish-yellow tint from head to toe. "Maybe I should take a picture of myself and send it to my parents. Man, would they freak."

He looked across the living room at Mireet, who stood quietly, just looking at him. She also had a colorful tint to her body, though hers consisted of a blend of violet and red.

"Maybe I should get a picture of you." He smiled. "'Cause those colors make you look even sexier, and this time I'm not saying it to try and save my own ass. I mean it."

"_Merci_," she said in nearly a whisper.

O'Bannon strode over to the window and peered down at the darkened street of Diagon Alley. He shook his head, his smile growing. "Man, this was an awesome day. I can't remember the last time I had this much fun. And what about George?" He turned back to Mireet. "Did you see how he wa-"

He never finished the sentence. Mireet practically tackled him. He managed a brief gasp of surprise before she kissed him, longer and deeper than any kiss she had ever given him. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her body against his, kissing him as though it would be the last time she would ever do it in her life.

O'Bannon inhaled deeply when Mireet pulled her lips away, heat spreading throughout his entire body. "Wha . . . Wha . . . What was that all about? I mean, not that I'm complaining. But wha . . ."

Mireet laid a hand on his cheek. "It's just that today . . . today you seemed so happy. I haven't seen you act this way in so long. It is like you are finally allowing yourself to live again, and not let the war rule your life."

He smiled, then gently grasped her hand, pulled it in front of his mouth, and kissed it. "I'll be honest with you. I can't remember the last time I laughed like that or just . . . just goofed around. Four months ago I couldn't even imagine doing anything like that, and now . . ."

He stared into Mireet's face. Her eyes glistened with tears, even though a smile had formed on her face. But he also saw something else radiating from those eyes and that perfect, beautiful face. His stomach and legs quivered. Never in his life had he seen a look like that. Even so, he knew exactly what it was.

Love. Pure love. So strong he could almost feel it. He held his breath, wanting to burn this moment into his head forever.

He kissed her fiercely. Their mouths opened wider, their hands roaming up and down their backs. She gasped as his lips moved to her neck.

"Make love to me, Jimmy."

His head snapped back. He looked at Mireet, his heart racing. Did he hear right?

"Make love? Really?"

"I told you I wanted to wait until the time was right. That time is tonight."

She took hold of both his hands and led him across the living room. His head swirled. _Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God._ He had thought about this moment, dreamed of it, hoped for it, for over five years. Now tonight . . . Merlin's beard, it was actually going to happen!

They finally reached the bedroom. Mireet let go of his hands, and laid down on her back. She stared up at him, smiling seductively, her blonde/violet/red hair splayed around her.

She had never looked more beautiful.

He leaned down over her, gazing into her eyes.

"I love you, Mireet."

Her smile widened. "I love you, too, Jimmy."

He lowered himself toward her and kissed her.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	29. Torn Feelings

**CHAPTER 29: TORN FEELINGS**

* * *

The first sensation O'Bannon had upon waking was damp sheets clinging to his body. Groaning, he lifted his head off his the pillow and spied articles of clothing strewn about the floor.

Memories from last night exploded in his mind. Not only memories, but sensations. The kissing, the caressing, the . . .

_Merlin's friggin' beard! It really happened!_

He whipped his head around. His heart skipped a beat. A smile spread across his face.

Mireet dozed next to him, her blond hair cascading down her back and over her face.

O'Bannon just stared at her, watching her bare shoulders rise and fall with slow breaths. _My God, she is so beautiful._ So many times over the past five years he believed this moment would only exist in his dreams, that a life with this witch would be a forlorn hope.

Yet here he was, in bed with her after a night of making love, beginning to build a life together.

He wondered how he could be so lucky.

O'Bannon reached over with two fingers and gently brushed back strands of Mireet's hair from her shoulder. She moaned softly. He smiled, leaned over, and placed a gentle kiss on her shoulder. Again the memories from last night flooded his mind. He closed his eyes, wanting to savor every moment, every feeling, of their first time.

_First time._

He opened his eyes. Another first time surfaced in his mind. His _very _first time. Four years ago, at Hogwarts.

_How can I think about that now?_

O'Bannon tried to push those thoughts from his mind. That only made him feel guilty. It also made him realize something. There was another person in Britain he needed to see to set things right.

"Good morning," a sleepy, French-accented voice said.

He glanced down. Mireet's eyes opened. She moaned as she pushed herself up on her side.

"Morning, hon." O'Bannon brushed more strands of hair from Mireet's face and kissed her. "Last night was . . . was . . . man, I wish I could think of a word to do it justice."

Mireet chuckled lightly. "Last night was wonderful. Actually, it was perfect." She reached out and ran her fingers through his hair.

O'Bannon ran his hand up and down her side, his gaze never leaving hers. "I've fanaticized about this so many times."

"And were all your fantasies satisfied?"

"Yeah . . . Well, not all of them. I mean, we didn't get to the whipped crème and chocolate sauce one."

Mireet's mouth opened wide in shock. She giggled and playfully slapped his shoulder. "I think we will have plenty of opportunities to try that one."

O'Bannon smiled and kissed her. "I love you."

"I love you, too." She stroked his cheek and kissed him again.

He wrapped his arms around her, their kisses growing fiercer by the moment. He rolled Mireet on her back, his lips sliding down her chin, then down her neck. Heat spread through his entire body.

"Jimmy," she said breathlessly. "Oh, Jimmy."

He reached out to the nightstand and grabbed his wand.

"What are you doing?" Mireet asked.

"Casting the charm to make sure we don't have an 'accident'."

She smiled. "Jimmy, if we do this, we're going to be late for work."

"Then George will just have to deal with it."

Mireet laughed as O'Bannon drew the sheets completely over them.

**XXXXX**

After a long shared shower and a very quick breakfast, O'Bannon and Mireet finally headed downstairs to the shop. George was standing behind the counter when he turned around and spotted them.

"Well, look who finally decided to show up for work. I was about to . . ." George raised an eyebrow. "Oi, what are you two smiling . . . about?" His eyes widened. Realization spread across his face. "Bloody hell! You two didn't . . . I mean, you . . ."

"Now, George." Mireet strolled over to him and patted his cheek. "That is a personal matter between me and Jimmy. A _very wonderful _personal matter."

Smiling wide, she walked past the counter.

George gawked at her, then turned to O'Bannon, mouth still hanging open.

"What?" O'Bannon shrugged, stilling wearing a Cheshire Cat-like grin.

"What do you mean what? You and Mireet. I mean . . . well blimey, it took you two long enough."

"Yeah, but it was worth the wait."

O'Bannon walked around the shop the entire day with an extra spring in his step and a smile that refused to vanish from his face.

_Well, why shouldn't I smile all day long?_ He just had sex for the first time with the witch he loved more than anything in the world.

_First time . . ._

When closing time came George asked what they wanted to do for dinner.

"If it's all the same to you, man," O'Bannon wrapped his arm around Mireet's face, "I wanna take milady out to a very special dinner. Just the two of us to celebrate . . . well, you know."

"Jimmy." Mireet's face lit up. "_Merci. _That is so sweet of you." She kissed him on the cheek, making him smile wider.

George grinned and shook his head. "Who am I to get in the way of a romantic dinner? Have yourselves a fun time. But not _too _fun." He waggled his eyebrows.

Mireet shook her head. "George, you are incorrigible."

"Why _Merci." _George gave her a slight bow. "That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me all day."

The three chuckled as O'Bannon and Mireet headed for the door.

"Oh, dude." O'Bannon spun around just as he took hold of the doorknob. "I wanted to see if I could do just a half-a-day tomorrow?"

George shrugged. "Sure. Any particular reason."

"Well, there's actually one more person I need to see, make sure things are all right between us."

"Who is it?" George asked.

When he mentioned the name, understanding immediately set in on George's face. Mireet's too, a fact for which he was glad. He had feared she might be jealous.

"So what time do you want to go over there?" Mireet asked.

O'Bannon bit his lip. "Um, I hope you don't mind, hon, but I think for this one, I'd like to do it myself."

**XXXXX**

O'Bannon stood in front of the gray-brick, two-story cottage with a white thatched roof near the woods outside Melton Mowbray. He let out a slow breath, wondering what sort of welcome he would receive.

Dread coiled around his insides. The same dread he'd felt during all the other meetings like this one. Maybe moreso, considering what he'd lost during the war didn't come close to all the tragedies this woman suffered.

_C'mon, O'Bannon. Time to Gryffindor up._

Stiffening his shoulders, he walked up to the door and knocked.

"Yes?" A tall, patrician woman greeted him. She looked thinner than the last time he saw her. More lines had etched into her face, and her brown hair had streaks of gray. But it was her eyes he noticed the most. An eternal sadness radiated from them.

Despite it all, the witch's face lit up at the sight of him.

"Jimmy O'Bannon! I don't believe it. How are you?" Andromeda Tonks stepped forward and gave him a big hug. The move caught him a bit off-guard. After all, he had only dealt with Tonks' mother briefly, as she allowed him to stay at her house while he recovered from the injuries he sustained during his confrontation with the aurors four years ago.

"It's good to see you again, Mrs. Tonks. How . . . um, how are you?"

"Oh, I'm . . . managing." She fought to maintain her smile. "What brings you around here?"

"Well, um, I just . . . I just needed to talk to you. I hope you don't mind, me just coming over unannounced."

"Nonsense. Come in. Would you care for a spot of tea?"

"Sure. Thanks." He walked across the living room, then stopped when he came to the fireplace. His eyes roamed the numerous photos on the mantle. The images made his throat tighten.

There was Tonks, in silky white wedding robes, standing next to Remus Lupin. Another photo showed Tonks gently rocking a baby back and forth in her arms – _That must be Teddy – _with a smiling Lupin standing next to them. He also noticed another wedding photo, and another photo of a couple with a baby. The couple in question were younger versions of Andromeda and Ted Tonks.

He sensed Mrs. Tonks standing next to him. She also stared at the photos, biting her lip. She then turned to him, gave him a shaky smile, and led him into the kitchen.

"Harry told me you were back in England," she said as she used her wand to fetch a teapot and two cups.

"Really? When did you see Harry?"

"Oh, he pops by quite a bit. He's Teddy's godfather, you know. Takes that responsibility very seriously, bless him. He's been a great help to me. Him and the Weasleys."

He smiled at that. "Yeah, they are great, aren't they?"

"That they are."

A couple minutes later she floated the steaming teacups over to the table, then joined O'Bannon.

"I also heard about that article Rita Skeeter wrote about you." She made a face. "Horrible woman. Here I thought the _Prophet_ was rubbish. I wouldn't wipe my muddy shoes on that magazine of hers."

O'Bannon stared down at his cup, his thumb and index finger rubbing the handle. "So I guess you know why I'm here in England."

Several seconds of silence passed before Mrs. Tonks spoke. "Yes. I do."

He sighed, shoulders slumped.

"Jimmy." Mrs. Tonks leaned forward. "I know you had your reasons for leaving the Wizarding World. The war was . . . the war was hard on everyone. You did what you felt you had to do in order to cope with it. I don't think any less of you."

"Thanks. But . . . it wasn't the right thing to do. I mean y . . . other people lost a hell of a lot more than I did."

"That doesn't make your losses any less significant."

O'Bannon sighed. "I guess. The point is, I don't know any witches and wizards who just up and left this world like I did, abandon their friends, try to forget about . . . forget about people who died, people who meant something to you."

Mrs. Tonks drew a long breath. She stared quietly at her teacup before speaking. "There have been plenty of times over the past two years when I just didn't want to deal with the world. Some mornings I'd wake up, realize Ted wasn't in bed next to me, that . . ." She bit her lip before continuing. "That he'd never be there next to me again. Then I'd think about . . . Dora." Her voice quivered. "My daughter, my son-in-law. Both dead. I'd lie there, wondering why I should bother getting out of bed. Or I'd just sit in my chair, no desire to get up and go anywhere or do anything. A few times I just wanted to get a bottle of sherry or fire whiskey and drink myself to a stupor."

"I can tell you from personal experience. Booze only makes things worse."

Mrs. Tonks nodded. "Thankfully, I had something to force me to keep going. Teddy. He needed me. An orphan before he was even one-year-old. I couldn't afford to sit around and wallow in misery. I had to take care of him. I had to be strong for him."

She reached out and took hold of his hand. "I could have just given up. I could have just foisted Teddy on someone else and sat in this house and shut out the rest of the world. Believe me, there were many times I seriously considered doing that. But I didn't. I found the strength to keep going. Just like you found the strength to come back to our world. So as far as I'm concerned, you have nothing to apologize for."

O'Bannon managed a smile. "Thanks, Mrs. Tonks. But the thing is, Tonks mea . . . she was a good friend. After everything she did for me, I had no right to leave this world and try to forget about her. I mean, my God, the woman saved my life, she gave me a lot of good advice, she . . . she believed in me, especially those times when I didn't believe in myself. She actually thought I had what it took to become an auror. She was like a mentor. She was a comrade-in-arms. And we . . . I mean, for a time we . . . well, Tonks and I . . ." He worked his jaw back and forth, wondering how to properly phrase this.

"You slept with my daughter."

He swallowed a shocked breath and choked on it. His eyes widened as he stared at Mrs. Tonks, anxiety shooting through his body. "Um, how . . . I mean, uh . . . well, we . . . I mean, it wasn't like . . . you know. I did respect her." He winced at that last sentence. Merlin's beard, that sounded corny.

"Jimmy. It's all right. Honestly, when you were recuperating here after your run-in with the aurors, I suspected as much. When Tonks returned from dealing with the Longathian Tunnel, she must have spent an hour by your bedside."

"I didn't know that."

Mrs. Tonks flashed him a warm smile. "I knew she wouldn't have sat with you for so long if you'd just been a friend. Plus, she was rather down in the dumps for a few days after you left."

O'Bannon fell back in his seat. He never knew his leaving had that much of an impact on Tonks.

Then again, he recalled those first few days when he returned to Salem. He had missed Tonks a lot. Not just having sex with her. He missed her as a person. He couldn't count the number of times he wondered if they could have had a real relationship if it hadn't been for the war, and the fact three thousand miles of ocean separated them.

"Oh," Mrs. Tonks went on. "Another thing, Dora told me what happened between you two."

Surprise burst inside him. It quickly faded, however, and he smiled, because when he thought about it, that sounded like something Tonks would do.

"I really did care about her, Mrs. Tonks. I just want you to know that."

"I know you did."

O'Bannon took a slow breath. "It's just that . . . this is gonna sound stupid. Maybe . . . I don't know, maybe sound insensitive."

Mrs. Tonks titled her head, a perplexed look on her face. "What?"

He chewed on his lower lip. "It's . . . well, I'm with someone now. Mireet's her name. We met when we were at Hogwarts the year they had the Tri-Wizard Tournament. She was part of the Beauxbatons contingent. We'd always had feelings for one another, but never acted on it because of the war and, well, some other stuff. But now were together. I really love her, Mrs. Tonks. But when I think about your daughter, I . . . I start to feel guilty." His voice dropped off. "I mean, I love Mireet, so how can I think about Tonks like that? But then I think about what we went through together, and it's like, how can I not think about Tonks. Does that make sense?"

Mrs. Tonks softly chuckled and shook her head. "Jimmy, that isn't something you should feel guilty about. I sometimes go through that myself."

"Really?"

She nodded. "During my Fifth Year at Hogwarts, before I met Ted, I was with another boy. Logan Helms. Oh, he was dashing. Lovely smile, very sweet, a Seventh Year, and a Gryffindor to boot. What a scandal that caused, a Slytherin from a family of pureblood fanatics dating a Gryffindor. But we were together over a year. I truly did love him. Unfortunately, Logan was killed during the first war. Even though I had many wonderful years together with Ted and loved him with all my heart, I still think of Logan quite a bit, and mourn his death. That doesn't mean I loved Ted any less. When you get right down to it, if someone we care about, or did care about at one time, dies, we're going to feel it. That's just what it is to be human."

O'Bannon responded with a half-smile, mulling over Mrs. Tonks' words.

"I'm sure this Mireet means a great deal to you, and I truly am happy you've found someone to share your life with. But if it isn't too much of an imposition, I'd just ask that you keep at least a little room in your heart for my daughter's memory."

He nodded. "I will. You can count on it."

"Thank you." Her smile grew shaky, and her eyes watered. "You have no idea how much that means to me."

Mrs. Tonks sipped her tea. When she set down her teacup she said, "Oh! I wonder, if you don't mind, would you like to meet Teddy?"

"Yeah. Sure."

They got up from the table. Mrs. Tonks led him upstairs and to a door on the on the right side of the hallway. She opened it and he peered inside.

A small boy sat on the floor, making roaring sounds as he played with a toy dragon, knocking over figurines of wizards and witches. From time to time, puffs of smoke burst from the fake creature's mouth.

A lump formed in O'Bannon's throat when he saw little Teddy Lupin's hair. It fluctuated between brilliant orange and dark red.

_Man, just like his mom._

"Teddy sweetheart. Could you come here for a moment?"

Teddy looked up and smiled. He shot to his feet and bounded over to Mrs. Tonks. "Gra'ma! Gra'ma!"

Mrs. Tonks gave her grandson a little hug, then turned him toward Jimmy. "Teddy, I'd like you to meet . . . a friend of our family. His name's Jimmy O'Bannon."

Teddy pressed against Mrs. Tonks leg, eyeing him curiously. He then smiled and waved. "Hi."

"Hey, Teddy. Nice to meet you." O'Bannon stuck out his hand. Teddy looked at it for several seconds before sticking out his hand and shaking it. An instant later, Teddy pulled his hand back and looked up at his grandmother.

"I'm a dragon, Gra'ma. Roar!"

"And I'm sure you're the most ferocious dragon out there."

"Yeah! Fire! Fire!"

Mrs. Tonks laughed. "That's good. Go back to your dragon. Oh, say good-bye to Mister O'Bannon."

Teddy looked up at him. After a shy smile, he waved his little hand. "Bye."

He hurried back to his toy dragon and swung it around, scattering the figurines.

O'Bannon watched him play, tears stinging his eyes. It wasn't fair, dammit. It wasn't fair that Teddy would go through his entire life never knowing what an incredible woman his mother had been, what a courageous and kind man his father had been.

He cursed Voldemort, cursed the Death Eaters, cursed the whole damn war. They had all robbed Teddy of a family.

_Well, not quite._ He still had Mrs. Tonks, a woman who was the antithesis of the stereotypical Slytherin. He had Harry Potter as a godfather, and felt his friend probably considered Teddy something of a kindred spirit, given the fact they both lost their parents at a very young age.

_He'll be all right. _He cast his eyes to the ceiling, thinking of Tonks, Mr. Lupin and Mr. Tonks. _He'll be all right._

They left Teddy to play with his toys. Once Mrs. Tonks shut the door and they headed down the hall, O'Bannon turned to her. "Um, Mrs. Tonks?"

"Yes, Jimmy?"

"Um, I was just wondering. When Teddy's old enough, would it be okay if I told him about . . . well, told him about my experiences with Tonks. I mean, not _all_ of them, you know. Just . . . just how much she affected my life."

Mrs. Tonks smiled and gently grasped his shoulder. "Of course. I want Teddy to know as much about his parents as possible."

He smiled and nodded his thanks. He imagined himself years from now, sitting down with Teddy and telling him about his eventful first meeting with his mother, what a great fighter she'd been, and how she drew out of him talent and determination he never knew he had.

Deep down, though, it pained him that Teddy would have to rely on him and others to tell him those things about his mother, instead of actually seeing all that for himself.

Mrs. Tonks walked him to the front door and gave him a hug. "It was wonderful to see you again. And I want you to know, you're always welcome at this house."

"Thanks, Mrs. Tonks. I appreciate it."

He just stepped out the door when Mrs. Tonks called to him. "Jimmy."

"Yeah?" he turned to face her.

"This girl you're with, Mireet. I take it things are serious between the two of you?"

"Oh yeah. Very serious."

Mrs. Tonks stepped closer to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know the war is over and we're at peace, but you never know what will happen in the future. I . . . I learned that the hard way. Please promise me that you'll cherish Mireet and never take her for granted every day for the rest of your life."

O'Bannon's face stiffened. He thought back to last night, remembering the sensation of Mireet in his arms as they made love. More memories surfaced. The first day he met her at Hogwarts. Dancing with her at the Yule Ball. All the times she delivered food and supplies to him and the children in the Appalachians during the war. The night she showed up at their camp, gravely injured after a Death Eater ambush.

Most of all, he thought about how she stood by him the past few months, pulling him out of his personal abyss. He had no doubt that she, like Tonks, had saved his life.

"You don't have to worry about that, Mrs. Tonks. I already do."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	30. New Beginnings

**CHAPTER 30: NEW BEGINNINGS**

* * *

"Ah, that was a great meal, Jenna." Rosa Infante leaned back in her seat, a content smile on her face.

"Thanks, but Swedish meatballs with noodles and alfredo sauce isn't exactly a gourmet meal."

"Hey, as a single woman working the kind of crazy hours I do, home cooked meals are few and far between. So trust me when I say this was delicious."

"I second that." Artimus smiled at his girlfriend from across the kitchen table.

"Me too." Samantha held up her hand.

Jenna gave them all a warm smile. "Thanks, everyone." She reached over for Rosa's empty plate.

"I've got this, Jenna." Artimus took out his wand, and with a couple waves, sent all the plates, goblets and utensils over to the sink. Another couple of waves turned on the faucet, and the kitchenware began washing themselves.

Jenna beamed as she walked around to Artimus' chair. "To think, so many women out there want a lawyer or a doctor. Who needs those guys when you have a wizard for a boyfriend?" She leaned down and kissed Artimus on the cheek, making him blush.

"And a great guy to boot," Rosa added.

Jenna turned to her. "Well that goes without saying."

Rosa's smile grew wider as she continued to watch the couple. A warm feeling spread through her. She could not have been happier for Artimus. She thought about their time at Salem, how awkward he had been, how he lacked any self-confidence, how hard it was for him to make friends outside their little quartet.

But here he was now, more sure of himself than she had ever seen, and with an absolutely wonderful woman who adored him as much as he adored her. She remembered being so worried about him after graduation, if he could make it on his own, if he could find a woman that would make him happy.

It thrilled her to no end to see her worries had been unfounded.

Yet a pang of sorrow went through her. Yes, she was overjoyed to see how Artimus' life had turned out. But she had to admit, she missed him, just as she missed Jared and Jimmy. For seven years at Salem they had been constant companions, through good times and bad times. They had survived nine months together in the mountains protecting the children from Death Eaters. Yet since the war ended, how often had the four of them all been together in one place at one time? The last time she could think of was when Jimmy and Mireet left for England, and they'd been there to say good-bye to them.

Now Jimmy was in England and Jared was in Thailand.

_Did you really think you'd be able to hang out with them the way you did at Salem?_

Realistically, that wasn't possible. But she had hoped she'd be able to see her friends more than she did.

Her focus returned to Artimus and Jenna, and Jenna's sister Samantha. She bit her lip, trying to freeze the scene in her head. Times like these, she realized, needed to be cherished.

"You know, I got an owl from Jimmy and Mireet the other week," Artimus told her.

"Yeah, so did I. They seem to enjoy working in . . . in George's shop."

She swallowed at the mention of George's name. A blade of anger and sadness pierced her full stomach as she thought back to that day at the Department of Magic when George blew up at her. She tried to rationalize it, knowing he couldn't be in his right mind after losing his twin brother just seven months before at the Battle of Hogwarts. Still it was hard to accept that reasoning when she thought about the heartbreak his outburst caused, when she thought about her brief but wonderful time with him in England.

"Rosa? Are you okay?" Jenna asked.

"Hmm?" She blinked. "Oh yeah, just, um, just thinking." She took a quick breath to compose herself.

Artimus fixed her with a curious stare, then asked. "I haven't heard from Jared in a while. What about you?"

Rosa shook her head. "I haven't heard from him since he went back to Thailand. Of course, that might be a good thing."

A perplexed look came over Artimus' face. "How?"

"Because my hope is he's using that time to get better acquainted with that Thai assistant of his, Tasanee."

"Oh yeah," Jenna said. "I got the feeling when we were over there that she was pretty sweet on him. I mean, the way she was always visiting in the hospital."

"Exactly. To put up with all his crap and still care enough about him to see him in the hospital every single day, that is one special woman. Jared better realize that, because if he messes things up with Tasanee I'll personally port key to Thailand and curse him until he looks like a giant worm turned inside-out."

Samantha sputtered with laughter.

"Rosa." Jenna shook her head, but still smiled.

"Hey, if you had to grow up with him, you'd back me up on this. Right, Artimus?"

He bobbed his head from side-to-side, then turned to his girlfriend. "After being around Jared for seven years at Salem, I have to say Rosa has a point."

Everyone around the table laughed. An additional burst of joy went through Rosa as she recalled how back at Salem, Artimus rarely, if ever, cracked a joke. Just another example of how much her friend had changed since their school days, and changed for the better.

"Well, I'm glad to hear things are going well for Jared," Jenna said. "And for the rest of your family, too."

A frown formed on Rosa's face. "Well, most of my family anyway."

Artimus let out a heavy sigh. "Esteban and Oriana still haven't gotten back together?"

"No. They've talked a few times over the Floo. He's apologized for hitting me that night. Heck, I've even told Oriana it was an accident I don't know how many times. But she's still afraid he might snap again and hurt her or Rodolfo."

"I can't see that," Artimus said. "I'll admit, I don't know Esteban as well as I do you or Jared, but he always struck me as a nice guy. I couldn't see him hitting his wife or son."

"Neither can I. Unfortunately, that's not the case with Oriana."

"You know," Jenna began. "When I was interning at the hospital, I saw my fair share of domestic violence cases. Some of the injuries those women had . . ." She pressed her lips together and shuddered. Artimus placed a hand on her shoulder as she continued. "Believe me, after seeing what the men who supposedly love those women are capable of, I can understand why Oriana would be hesitant to go back to Esteban."

"But Esteban never even touched Oriana. He slapped me, by accident. It was a one-time thing."

"That's what some of those men tell their wives and girlfriends, then two weeks later those same women are back in the ER."

"Esteban would never hit Oriana." An edge crept into Rosa's voice.

Jenna held up her hand. "I'm not saying he would. I'm just telling you how it might be from Oriana's perspective."

Rosa drew a long breath. "Yeah, I guess. Sorry, Jenna."

"You don't have anything to apologize for." Jenna gave her a warm smile. "I know you just want them back together."

"True. The question is, how do I do that?" Rosa leaned back in her seat, arms folded, staring at the table in thought. She knew Esteban would likely jump at the chance to see Oriana. Oriana, on the other hand, was not as willing.

_So how do we get those two in the same room at the very least? _She couldn't force them together.

Or could she?

"Artimus." Her head snapped up. "Remember that day you called me and Jimmy and Jared here, to try and hash out everything?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, why don't we do that again?"

Artimus' face scrunched up. "But why would Esteban and Oriana want to come here?"

The corners of Rosa's mouth curled. Artimus had a point. What reason would she have for inviting them to Artimus' place? Would it make them suspicious?

"You're right. Maybe I could invite them to my place for dinner, and of course, not tell either of them the other is coming. And, well . . . I was wondering . . ."

"What?" Artimus asked.

"Well, I was wondering if maybe you guys could be there, too. You showed the last time that you can keep a level head, look at things from a different perspective, and give advice when everyone else around you is just too emotional. I mean, I feel like I've said everything I could to try and get Esteban and Oriana back together and it hasn't worked. I know I'm asking a lot, but if you guys could help, I'd really appreciate it."

Surprise flared across Artimus' face. The reaction was not unexpected to Rosa. Back at Salem, Artimus usually came to her or Jimmy for help, not the other way around.

"Um, sure. I'll do what I can."

"We both will." Jenna nodded and put her hand over Artimus'.

A smile spread over Rosa's face. "Thanks, both of you. I really appreciate it. Oh! Jenna, I forgot. I know how much you don't like port keys, and you'd probably like Flooing even less. I'll understand if you don't want to come."

"No way. You've always been a good friend to Artimus. After everything you've done for him, this is the least I can do for you. I can take a couple days off from work and we can drive up to New England."

A lump formed in her throat. Jenna's selflessness never ceased to amaze her, especially given the fact she had initially been reluctant to let her little sister enter the Wizarding World. As with Mireet, she couldn't but think of Jenna as a part of her surrogate family.

"Thanks. Thank you so much."

"Um, there is one thing we should consider," Artimus said. "What if Oriana decides to leave as soon as she sees Esteban at your place?"

"That's not gonna happen," Rosa answered with assuredness. "They're gonna stay until they work out their issues, even if I have to seal my apartment to keep them from leaving."

Artimus grimaced. "Um, wouldn't that be considered illegal imprisonment?"

"Probably. But if Esteban or Oriana have a problem with it, tough."

**XXXXX**

A week later, Rosa sat in a chair in her apartment's living room, slowly rubbing her hands together. Her eyes flickered between the fireplace and the couch, where Artimus and Jenna sat quietly, holding hands. Art's shoulders rose and fell slowly, the nervousness on his face evident.

_I probably look the same way._ So many thoughts ran through her mind, mainly all the things that could go wrong with this gathering.

_Remember what your old hockey captain said. "Negative thoughts breed negative action."_

She smiled, thinking of how Jimmy had taken those words to heart, and even used them in some of his locker room speeches back at Salem.

Rosa sighed. She wished Jimmy was here. Jared, too. They could probably use all the help they could get to convince Esteban and Oriana to get back together. Not only that, but she just felt . . . stronger, knowing they were around, that she could count on their support.

She jumped as green flames gushed from the fireplace. Esteban emerged moments later. Rosa walked over and hugged her cousin.

"Thanks for inviting me to dinner," he said after saying hello to Artimus and Jenna. "So what are we having?" He took a sniff of the air, then scrunched his face in puzzlement. "Uh, did you put an Odor Ridding Charm on your apartment?" He then peered into the kitchenette. "Do you even have anything cooking?"

"Um, well . . . I, uh, thought we'd do something different. I thought it would be fun to go into Muggle Boston and get some pizza. I used to have that quite a bit when Jared and I would stay over at Jimmy's. What can I say, I'm feeling nostalgic."

Esteban eyed her curiously. Rosa stiffened her face, praying her cousin didn't think she had an ulterior motive for inviting him over.

After several long, agonizing seconds of silence, Esteban shrugged. "Okay. That should be interesting. Let's go."

"Oh, um, what's the rush?" Rosa glanced at the fireplace, praying for another gush of green flames to appear. When none did, she said. "Why don't we just hang out here for a while and catch up?"

"Can't we do that at whatever restaurant we're gonna go to?" asked Esteban. "I'm starving."

"Oh, well, um . . ." Again, she glanced over at the fireplace.

_C'mon, Oriana. Where are you?_

"Um . . . okay. Just let me go freshen up." She headed toward the hallway, her gait shorter and slower than normal. Hopefully she could linger in the bathroom long enough for . . .

Another set of green flames burst from the fireplace.

"Thank, Merlin," Rosa muttered under her breath.

"Hey, Rosa," Oriana called out as she stepped out of the fire. "I'm he-" She froze in her tracks, her wide eyes locked on her estranged husband.

"Ori?" Esteban gaped at her. "Wha . . . what are you doing here?"

"I . . . what are you doing here? Rosa?" She turned to her. "What's going on?"

"Yeah," Esteban said. "I'd like to know, too."

"Okay. I invited you both here tonight, and I didn't tell either of you the other would be here."

Oriana's jaw drop. Her expression shifted between shock and anger.

Esteban just looked stunned.

"Rosa, I . . . I don't know about this," Oriana said.

"Ori, come on," Esteban pleaded. "We're here, maybe . . . maybe we can talk some more. Face to face."

Oriana bit her lip. "I . . . I don't know. I don't know if I'm ready. Maybe . . . maybe I should . . ." She turned to the fireplace.

"No way." Rosa whipped out her wand. A bluish-white beam shot toward the fireplace. An instant later a brick wall formed and blocked the hearth.

"Rosa, what the hell?" Oriana whipped her head toward her.

"You guys are not leaving here until you work things out."

Oriana's eyes widened. "You can't just keep us here."

"Yes I can. This has been going on for months, and its time for it to end. You two need to be together. Rodolfo needs to have both his parents under one roof."

"You can't just force us to be together, Rosa." Aggravation coated Oriana's voice.

Rosa started to say something when Artimus got off the couch. "Um, look. I know what Rosa's doing is extreme, but she's only doing this because she cares about you two. I think that's something you should appreciate."

Rosa grinned momentarily at that last statement. Artimus certainly knew what he was talking about. She doubted his father or two surviving brothers would go to these sorts of lengths to resolve any problems in their family.

"You're both here," Artimus continued. "Here's your chance to talk. I mean, isn't that what you want?"

"I have been talking to her, Artimus," said Esteban. "I've apologized I don't know how many times, I swore what happened that night with Rosa would never happen again. But she's still afraid I may do it again one day, but hurt her and Rodolfo instead." He looked his wife in the eye. "You know I'd never do that."

"Esteban, I want to believe that. I want to believe it so much. But I can't take that chance with our son."

Artimus chewed on his lower lip. "Um, well, has Esteban ever hit anyone like that before that night?"

"No." Oriana shook her head.

"Then what makes you think he would do it again?"

Oriana sighed. "You don't understand, Artimus. You weren't there. Do you know what it was like to see the man I love, a man I always thought was nice and caring, get so mad he slapped his own cousin? It was like . . . like I didn't even know him any more."

"We keep telling you," Rosa said. "It was an accident."

"And I keep telling you, I don't want one of those accidents to happen to me or Rodolfo."

"So, what? That's it?" Artimus held his hands out to his sides. "Your marriage is over? You're not even gonna try to resolve this?"

Both Esteban and Oriana lowered their gazes to the floor.

Artimus let out an irritated breath before continuing. "You know, in all the time I've known you two, you always seemed so happy being around each other. I just think when you find someone really special, someone you want to share your life with, it's . . . it's like a gift. It's not something you give up on. It should be something you're willing to fight to hold on to."

Rosa noticed Jenna's eyes were locked on Artimus as she talked. She also noticed the Muggle woman swallow, her jaw momentarily quivering.

Esteban and Oriana lifted their gazes and stared at one another in silence. Several seconds passed before Esteban looked to both Rosa and Artimus. "I don't want to give up on this." He turned to his wife. "Oriana, I . . . I love you. I swear to you I would never raise a hand to either you or Rodolfo."

"I wish I could take your word for it. But after what happened, I'm afraid it'll take more than your word to make me believe that."

Esteban shook his head, lines creasing his face. Rosa tensed, praying he wouldn't get angry. Just one outburst, and she doubted anything anyone could say would convince Oriana to go back to Esteban.

Ever.

Rosa glanced over at Artimus. He slowly worked his jaw back and forth, as though thinking about what to say next. She held her breath, waiting, praying that he could come up with something.

He remained silent.

"Um, if I could make a suggestion." Jenna rose from the couch and stepped over to the group. "Maybe what you guys need is to go see a counselor. Or I guess for your world it would be those Mind, Body and Spirit Healers."

"An MBS Healer?" Esteban looked offended by the mere idea. "You have any idea what other witches and wizards think about people who go to them? They think you're crazy or a mushspine who can't deal with stuff without breaking down and crying."

"Esteban, you have more important things to consider than what total strangers may think about you." Rosa's eyes narrowed at her cousin. Judging from his expression, he didn't seem too eager to change his mind.

"Besides," Oriana said. "MBS Healers usually deal with individuals. I don't know if they're really geared to help couples."

"Well aren't there any wizarding versions of marriage counselors?" Jenna asked.

"Not really," Artimus said. "The majority of marriages in the Wizarding World are pretty stable compared to the Muggle World. Obviously my father's one of the exceptions to that rule."

Rosa frowned at that. Ulysses Rand was now on wife number four. _At least I think it's number four. It's hard to keep track with that bastard._

"Then maybe we should find a Muggle marriage counselor for you two."

Esteban drew his head back in stunned disbelief. "There's one big problem with that, Jenna. It's called the International Statute of Secrecy. We can't go to some Muggle counselor and start talking about the problems we're having in the Wizarding World."

"Then maybe you can just leave all the wizarding stuff out of it."

Esteban grunted. "I don't see how that's possible."

"What if I found a Muggle marriage counselor who did know about our world?" Artimus suggested.

"How would you do that?" asked Oriana.

"It'd be pretty simple for me, since I work for the Office of Wizarding-Muggle Relations. I can check the records of Muggle-borns around the country. Surely some of them have a parent or another relative who does this for a living. We could get them to help you."

The corners of Oriana's mouth curled. "Um, look, I don't want to sound like some pureblood elitist, but do you really think a Muggle marriage counselor could really help us?"

Jenna shrugged. "I don't see why not. When you get right down to it, marriage is marriage, whether it's Muggles or wizards."

Artimus looked over to his girlfriend, a huge smile breaking out on his face. Even Rosa felt happy about this idea. Granted, it was unconventional.

_Who cares so long as it helps Esteban and Oriana?_

"I don't know." Esteban slowly shook his head. "Just the thought of going to someone who's the Muggle version of an MBS Healer, it's just . . ."

"Esteban." Rosa stomped over to him, her cheeks burning with anger. She leaned in close to his ear, keeping her voice low. "Do you want to get back with Oriana or not?"  
He sighed and nodded.

"Then swallow your damn pride and do this. Jenna and Artimus drove I don't know how many hours from Washington to be here to help you. The least you can do is go on one visit to this counselor."

A scowl briefly crossed Esteban's face. It softened when he looked at her. After a few moments of lip biting he looked over to his wife. "All right. I'm willing to do this."

Oriana folded her arms across her chest and stared at the floor for a few seconds. "Yeah. If you can find some marriage counselor person, I'll do it."

"Great," Rosa blurted.

"All right, then." Artimus nodded and glanced at the couple. "As soon as I get back to the office I'll start checking our records. When I find someone, I'll owl you."

Rosa let out a slow, relieved breath. Granted, she would have preferred to see Esteban and Oriana walk out of here hand-in-hand, their marriage back to normal. Realistically, she knew that was too much to expect. But at least this marriage counselor idea seemed like a step in the right direction.

**XXXXX**

Since she did promise them dinner, Rosa Apparated to a pizza place in Muggle Boston and brought back two large pies and a big bottle of Mountain Dew, which she had developed a liking for since Jimmy introduced her to the tangy soda during one of her stays at his place. Plus she enjoyed the energy rush the Muggle beverage seemed to provide.

After they finished eating, Esteban and Oriana Flooed back to their separate homes, once Rosa removed the barrier from the fireplace.

"Guys." She looked at both Artimus and Jenna. "I can't thank you enough for doing this."

"It was our pleasure, Rosa." Jenna beamed at her.

"Thanks." Artimus gave her a half-smile. "But Jenna was the one who came up with the idea of the Muggle marriage counselor, not me."

"No, but you came up with how you could find one without violating the International Statute of Secrecy." Jenna rubbed his arm.

"Thanks, hon. But I never would have thought of having them see a Muggle marriage counselor."

"You both deserve credit for this." Rosa wrapped one arm and Jenna, the other around Artimus, and hugged them both. "You guys are perfect together. Artimus," she looked to him. "Don't ever let this girl go. You hear me?"

The color drained from his face. He gaped at Rosa for several seconds before muttering. "Um, uh . . . yeah. I mean, I won't. I won't."

Rosa smiled and hugged them again. "Well, I'm gonna get ready for bed. If you guys need anything, just holler."

With a parting smile, she turned and headed toward the hallway leading to the bathroom. Hope filled her as she thought of Esteban and Oriana. Sure, they had a long way to go before their marriage was back to the way it had been, but she felt confident that –

"Jenna, will you marry me?"

The words struck Rosa like a Body-Bind Curse. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe, completely surprised by what she had heard from Artimus. After what seemed an eternity, she forced herself to turn around. There in the middle of her living room, Artimus held hands with Jenna, who stared at him, mouth agape.

"Um . . . um . . ." Artimus struggled to speak. "I know I'm supposed to have a ring. I was saving up for one, really. But I just . . . I don't know, I just don't want to wait anymore. I love you, Jenna. You're the best thing that ever happened to me and . . . and . . ."

Rosa's hands went to her mouth when she saw Artimus get down on bended knee. He stared up at Jenna, still holding her hands. She still looked too shocked to say anything.

"I will get you a ring, I swear. But I just . . . I just want to know. Will you marry me?"

Rosa's insides quivered. Her eyes were glued on Jenna. The seconds took an eternity to tick off as she waited for the girl's answer.

_Please . . . please._

"Artimus, I . . . I . . ." Jenna shivered. Moisture welled up in her eyes. She drew a ragged breath. "Yes. Yes, I'll marry you."

Artimus opened his mouth to say something, only to have a brief croak emerge from his throat. Suddenly he shot to his feet and embraced Jenna, giving her a long kiss for good measure.

Rosa didn't even try to prevent the sob from escaping her lips. Joy overwhelmed her. So many memories of Artimus at Salem flashed through her mind. How shy he'd been around girls. How, in spite of his family's wealth, most girls at school didn't want anything to do with him. How she fretted he would never find anyone who truly loved him.

And now . . .

She knew she should leave them alone, let them cherish this moment. But her emotions got the best of her. With tears blurring her eyes she strode across the living room and threw her arms around both of them.

"Merlin's beard. Congratulations." She kissed them both on the cheek. "I'm so happy for you."

Rosa continued to hug them as she began crying. She could not have imagined tonight being this wonderful. Not only had she helped save one marriage, she also bore witness to the beginning of another.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	31. An Uncertain Future

**CHAPTER 31: AN UNCERTAIN FUTURE **

* * *

"I can't believe we're going to the World Cup." Jimmy O'Bannon grinned wide as he strode along a trail flanked by trees and wild flowers. He turned to Mireet, who walked beside him, and wrapped an arm around her waist. "Your grandfather is awesome." He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

"I agree," said Miroslav Harkorth, Durmstrang graduate and former goalie for the Triad hockey team, who walked behind the couple. "Getting tickets for this match is difficult."

"Difficult and expensive," pointed out the lanky, dark-haired Radomir Tortorov, another Durmstrang representative on the Triad.

"I am just fortunate _grand-pere_ taught flying at Beauxbatons when the captain of the French National Team was there."

"And that the guy liked your granddad," O'Bannon noted. "Otherwise he wouldn't have made him the team's flying coach and given him all those tickets to the championship game."

"Perhaps he can introduce us to the team," Harkorth said hopefully.

"Why would we want to meet the French National Team?" Stanimir Kurdzeli, one-half of the Triad's enforcer duo known as "The Durmstrang Tanks," scrunched up his face. "They did not even make it to the quarter-finals . . . again."

Mireet turned to him and scowled. "Thank you for reminding me. Do not be surprised if I _accidentally_ use an _Incendio _on your ticket."

Kurdzeli's eyes widened in abject horror at the possibility of his ticket being incinerated. "Um, what I mean to say is, I am sorry your country did not at least make it to the quarter-finals, and that you are a wonderful friend to share these tickets with us."

Mireet shot him a sly grin. "Much better, Stanimir."

Harkorth chuckled and slapped Kurdzeli on the back. Kurdzeli shook his head, then smiled. "At least now we can watch in person as our country finally wins the World Cup."

"Yeah, well I think Ireland's gonna have something to say about that, buddy," O'Bannon said.

"We have Viktor Krum," stated the bearded, unsmiling mass of muscle called Valko Velich, the other half of The Durmstrang Tanks. "We cannot lose."

"You had Krum in the last Quidditch World Cup championship, and you still lost. Mark my words, it's gonna be two in a row for the Irish."

The Bulgarians responded with groans, dismissive waves, and mutterings in their native tongue O'Bannon guessed were full of "colorful" words.

"Your country could not have chosen a better place for the World Cup," Mireet said. "The scenery here is beautiful."

O'Bannon watched his girlfriend gaze around this particular area of Bulgaria's Rhodope Mountains, with the River Mesta winding its way through the bulging green hills.

"Who cares about the scenery?" Tortorov said. "We are here to see the Quidditch World Cup, not look at flowers."

Mireet responded with a very unlady-like snort. "You men."

"Yes!" Kurdzeli raised a finger. "We are men. And for us men, that is the only scenery we care about."

The big, fair-haired Bulgarian pointed straight ahead. In the distance stood an enormous bowl-shaped structure with wooden spires rising high into the sky and topped by waving pennants.

O'Bannon fought the urge to bounce with excitement. He couldn't think of a better way to cap off their two week visit to Continental Europe than by watching the championship match of the Quidditch World Cup. He and Mireet had spent eight days in France with her family, though they didn't see much of Monique. Not that that disappointed him. The next four days they spent in Bulgaria, reconnecting with their Durmstrang teammates. O'Bannon's reconciliation process with them went smoother than he expected. None of his Bulgarian friends held it against him for abandoning the Wizarding World for nearly a year.

"True, there were some battles in our country," Harkorth had told him. "But we were spared the worst of the war, unlike your country and Britain. Given what you went through, I can understand why you left this world."

Mireet picked up her pace, O'Bannon trying to keep up with her long strides. Her face seemed to glow as they neared the stadium. He knew she was looking forward to seeing her grandfather, the man who'd given her her first broom ride at age three, the man she stayed with from time to time during her childhood when her father's drunkenness became too much. They had missed him during their visit to France because of his involvement in the World Cup for Team France, but now . . .

"Mireet!" A tall wizard clad in burgundy and white robes with an angular face, glasses and curled white hair stood at the end of the trail, waving to them.

"_Grand-pere!" _Mireet waved back. She let go of O'Bannon's hand and hurried over to her grandfather, Rejean Vorreal. The man smiled wide as he wrapped Mireet up in a big hug and kissed both her cheeks. The two were saying something in French as O'Bannon and the Bulgarians approached.

Mireet introduced the five of them to her grandfather, who shook their hands.

"Jimmy O'Bannon," Mr. Vorreal said in a rather thick accent. "Good to meet you." The words came out slowly, as if he had to put some thought into them.

"Nice to meet you too, _Monsieur _Vorreal. Mireet's told me a lot about you. Oh yeah, and thanks for the tickets."

The Bulgarians all nodded and gave him their thanks as well.

Mr. Vorreal responded with a perplexed look. "Ahhh . . . English, not so good."

"_Grand-pere." _Mireet put a hand on his shoulder and translated O'Bannon's words. Mr. Vorreal smiled and said something in French.

"_Grand-pere_ says it is his pleasure to give these tickets to you, and that I have spoken highly of all of you."

"Of course," Kurdzeli nodded. "There is nothing bad of us to speak of."

Mr. Vorreal handed them their tickets. Harkorth and Kurdzeli looked like they were about to jump ten feet in the air. Even the usually reserved Velich cracked a smile, albeit a brief one.

They all headed away from the forest path into what would have been a clearing, had it not been jammed by thousands upon thousands of witches and wizards making slow and steady progress toward the stadium. Hundreds of conversations in a dozen different languages floated through the air. To his left, O'Bannon spotted a group of Irish fans guiding a Quaffle trailing green and orange streamers through the air with their wands . . . until someone in a group of Bulgarian fans zapped it with a Redactor Curse. That resulted in both sides shouting insults and threats in two different languages until a couple aurors showed up and restored order. Further ahead, a couple Bulgarian fans delighted in making a model of a Beater fly around and pound a Leprechaun on the head. Two burly Irish fans threatened to stick the Beater model in a place where the sun didn't shine, and might have done it if the same two aurors hadn't shown up in time.

"Jeez," O'Bannon muttered. "And I thought Red Sox/Yankees games were nuts."

It took more than a half-hour for the group to make it to the stadium's entrance. During that time, Mr. Vorreal asked several questions of O'Bannon and the Bulgarians – with Mireet translating – to get to know them better. Most of this pleasant interrogation, however, was directed at O'Bannon, since Mr. Vorreal wanted to know, according to Mireet's translation, "what kind of man has stolen the heart of my precious granddaughter." A few times O'Bannon tried to answer in French. Mireet had given him a crash course in the language before they left for the continent. He'd memorized quite a few words and phrases, though nowhere near enough to carry on a normal conversation. Still, Mr. Vorreal seemed pleased that he had at least made an attempt to converse in French. O'Bannon also got a good laugh out of Mireet's grandfather when the man asked, "So with your country out of running, who are you going to cheer for?"

"Well, considering my last name's O'Bannon, I guess it's pretty obvious, huh?"

Once inside the stadium, the group walked the crowded concourse. Many fans had their faces painted green and orange for Ireland and green and red for Bulgaria. Some wore hats that shot out sparks that formed the words IRELAND or BALGARIYA. Others simply shouted at the top of their lungs about the greatness of their respective teams. O'Bannon breathed in deep, feeling the energy course through his veins. He couldn't wait for the game to start.

He also kept an eye out for Lee Jordan, knowing Britain's Wizarding Wireless Network News had assigned him to cover the Quidditch World Cup. Lee had been incommunicado since they arrived in Bulgaria, and was probably even busier today with the championship coming up. Still O'Bannon had to smile. A Quidditch nut like Lee was probably out-of-his-mind excited to cover this.

_I'm sure he'll tell us all about it when we get back to England._

Mr. Vorreal led them to a group of seats high up in one of the spires on the western side of the stadium. O'Bannon nearly bounced with excitement. They couldn't have asked for a better view.

With less than a half-hour to go before the match began, O'Bannon and his Bulgarian friends chatted amongst themselves, giving their own analyses on the match.

"Ireland's Chasers work together better than Bulgaria's," O'Bannon said.

"Bulgaria's Beaters will stop them," said Velich. "They have good aim."

"Plus we have the most beautiful chaser in the world." Kurdzeli waggled his eyebrows. "Radka Karavelov. Perhaps Mireet's grandfather can introduce me to her after the match."

"So it was not enough all the beautiful girls at Durmstrang used to tell you no," said Tortorov. "You now want a professional Quidditch player to do it to you."

They all laughed, except for Kurdzeli, who gave them a dismissive wave.

O'Bannon's smile grew. He doubted he could enjoy this day any more. Not only did he get to watch the Quidditch World Cup final, he got to do it with four good friends he hadn't seen in over a year, since the dedication of Fred's memorial. And before that, it had been four years, when they were together at Hogwarts.

His smile contracted. A glum feeling grew within him. He wondered when he would see these guys next. The beginning of August was just a couple days away. He figured in another month he and Mireet would head back to the US.

_And when will I be back in Europe again?_

_What about your friends and family back in America? _He missed them, too.

He looked over to Mireet, about to say something, then stopped. Was the Quidditch World Cup Championship the right place for this conversation? Especially in front of their Bulgarian friends and Mireet's grandfather?

He continued to eye Mireet, who was talking to her grandfather in French. O'Bannon started to turn away when he picked up a few words from Mr. Vorreal.

"Miss you . . . America . . . long."

"I miss you too, _Grand-pere._" Mireet said something else that O'Bannon couldn't understand.

Again, he caught a few of Mr. Vorreal's words. "Long . . . America . . . family . . . miss you."

Mireet muttered something so softly he couldn't understand a single word.

Mr. Vorreal put an arm around Mireet. She smiled briefly, then frowned.

_I keep saying how much I miss my family and friends in America, but what about Mireet? _And how long had Mireet been living and working in the US? It was well over three years now.

"Jimmy!" Harkorth tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, Jimmy. Who do you think would catch The Snitch first if it was Viktor Krum versus Harry Potter?"

O'Bannon's mouth opened and closed wordlessly as he tried to push down his concerns to answer Harkorth. "Um, well, I never actually Harry play. Then again, I've never seen Krum play either. But since Krum's a pro and Harry's not, I guess I gotta go with -"

"Krum!" Kurdzeli said. "He thinks Krum! You do have a brain, Jimmy."

Kurdzeli slapped him on top of the head while the other Bulgarians laughed. A second later O'Bannon laughed along with them.

Fifteen minutes later, the Irish and Bulgarian National Teams took to the air in a rematch of the last Quidditch World Cup Championship match seven years ago in Britain. Over a hundred thousand wizards and witches screamed energetically as the players streaked around the field . . . or pitch. _Do they call it a pitch in Bulgaria? _

Four hours and forty-seven minutes later, Viktor Krum muscled his way past the Irish Seeker and caught the Golden Snitch, giving Bulgaria the 630-570 win, and avenging their loss to Ireland in the last World Cup. O'Bannon was completely into the hard-fought, exciting match . . . most of the time. A few instances he snuck glances at Mireet, thought about her conversation with her grandfather, and wondered . . .

_We're gonna need to talk about this later._

He didn't get the chance during the rest of their stay in Bulgaria. Neither did he bring it up when they returned to England, mainly because they had another big event to get ready for in two days. A wedding. And considering who the bride was, O'Bannon figured this would be a very interesting wedding.

**XXXXX**

O'Bannon's eyes bulged in astonishment. Never in his life had he seen a wedding gown like that. There wasn't a trace of white on it. Just bright colors – yellow, orange, aqua blue, lime green. The bride also wore no veil. She had simply attached purple flowers down the length of her dirty blond hair.

After a few seconds of gaping, O'Bannon just shrugged his shoulders. Did he really expect normal, even on a day like this, from Luna Lovegood?

She continued to walk down the aisle between the rows of seats in the front yard of the rook-shaped home of Xenophilius Lovegood, which he had rebuilt after its destruction during the war. Dean's mother seemed to force a smile as she gazed at her soon-to-be daughter-in-law. O'Bannon wondered if Mrs. Thomas expected Luna to actually have a traditional sort of wedding gown, traditional by either Muggle or Wizarding standards.

_Yeah, like tradition and Luna Lovegood go together._

He noticed Ron Weasley turn away and cover his mouth, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a laugh. Hermione smacked him on the arm. That got him to stop laughing.

Mrs. Weasley wiped her eyes with a tissue. Ernie MacMillon and Terry Boot shot Luna some queer looks. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil whispered amongst themselves.

O'Bannon then looked to the tall, lanky redhead standing next to him. George Weasley followed Luna's progress down the aisle with a bewildered gaze.

"That dress certainly is . . . unique," he whispered.

"Unique, huh?" Lee Jordan chimed in. "Not the word I was thinking of."

"You guys know what Hawaiian shirt is?" O'Bannon asked.

"No." George and Lee both shook their heads.

"Well that dress looks like a mutated version of one."

The three young men snickered.

"Behave yourselves," Mireet hissed at them.

O'Bannon, George and Lee quieted down, but still grinned.

Luna reached the podium in front of the wedding guests. Ginny Weasley, her maid of honor, moved off to the side. Luna turned to Dean, fixing him with a serene smile. Dean responded with a very wide, and very nervous, smile of his own. Seamus Finnigan, Dean's best man, gave him a supportive slap on the shoulder.

The guests took their seats as a short, tufty-haired wizard stepped in front of Dean and Luna. He beamed at them, then looked to the audience. "We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of two faithful souls . . ."

O'Bannon felt Mireet's hand wrap around his. He glanced over at her, his heartbeat picking up. She looked absolutely gorgeous in her radiant, rose-colored dress robes and with her blond hair done up. She gave him a warm smile. He smiled back and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

_How did I get so lucky?_

He returned his attention to Dean and Luna. A quiver went through his stomach. He tuned out the words of the wizard presiding over the wedding as his imagination fired up. Instead of Dean and Luna, he pictured himself and Mireet standing in front of the crowd, exchanging vows. The image made his chest tighten. A shiver went up his spine.

_Why the heck is that thought making me nervous?_

He loved Mireet. He'd loved her since they had been at Hogwarts. He couldn't imagine himself with any other woman. There was no question in his mind that one day they'd be married.

But how long would it be before that day came? A few months? Next year? Two years from now? When would Mireet expect him to pop the question? Should he even consider marrying Mireet when he had no idea what he wanted to do with his life? Sure, he enjoyed working at George's shop, but he never planned on doing that forever.

_So do I find something else to do in the Wizarding World, or do I go back to the Muggle World and try to make it as a pro hockey player?_

Heck, he didn't even know when they should leave England and return to America.

He sighed to himself, making his decision right then and there. Before he could even entertain the idea of proposing to Mireet, he needed to get his crap together.

"And now," the tufty-haired wizard's words cut through O'Bannon's reverie. "Both the bride and the groom have written their own vows for each other. Luna, if you would go first."

O'Bannon choked off a laugh as Luna removed a small piece of parchment from her colorful wedding robes. He turned to Mireet. "Oh man, this oughta be good."

"Jimmy." The French witch shot in a warning glance.

He winced and turned back to Luna. She held the parchment in front of her and began to read.

"Well, this is rather difficult. I mean, there's all these thoughts I have on why I love you, Dean, and why it will be wonderful to spend the rest of my life with you. I really had a hard time wondering how I should do this. Chronologically, starting when we were held captive in Malfoy Manor to our time together at Shell Cottage – and oh by the way, Bill and Fleur, thank you for letting us stay there – then to the Battle of Hogwarts, then our first kiss, the first time you told me you loved me, the first time we had sex. I still get all tingly when I think about that."

Chuckles and nervous coughs rippled through the audience. Mrs. Thomas' eyes widened. One of Dean's sisters snickered behind her hand. Seamus looked away, his cheeks reddening as though fighting to contain his laughter. Dean winced in nervousness as his wife-to-be continued.

"But this sounds so much like a history lesson, and I know most people don't enjoy history lessons. So I guess I'll speak from the heart. Honestly, I always thought I'd spend my life alone. Well, except for Daddy. I mean alone in the sense I'd never have a husband or children of my own. But you changed my thinking, Dean. You comforted me during our time in captivity. We comforted each other after the war. I could tell that you really wanted to be with me. After a while, I tried to imagine my life without you in it, and I didn't like it. So I'm very glad that you want to marry me. I think we're going to have a fun and interesting life together, and I think you'll make a wonderful husband and father, and I hope I'll make a good wife and mother. Actually, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like us to have children as soon as possible. So when we're done with the wedding and the reception and all that, let's get started on having our first child, shall we?"

More sniggers and guffaws came from the crowd. Mrs. Thomas rubbed her forehead.

"Oh yes," Luna blurted. "I can't believe I forgot to say this. I love you, Dean Thomas. I love you with all my heart. The end."

She folded up the parchment, put it back inside her robes, and looked up at Dean with her serene smile.

O'Bannon leaned close to Mireet and whispered, "Well those vows were . . . memorable."

Mireet turned to him, working her jaw back and forth. "They were . . . er, heartfelt. And well, it is Luna."

O'Bannon just nodded. His girlfriend's last sentence summed it up perfectly.

After Luna's "performance," Dean's vows, while no doubt just as heartfelt, sounded rather ordinary. After that came the "I dos," followed by the kiss, and just like that, the union of Dean and Luna Thomas was created.

The newly married couple strode down the aisle, the guests showering them with rice. O'Bannon and Mireet got in the reception line with the other guests. When he eventually got to the couple, he gave Dean a one-armed hug, pounding his back and congratulating him. He then hugged Luna and congratulated her, too.

"Oh, thank you, Jimmy. And thank you for coming. That was very nice of you. Isn't this a happy day?"

"Yeah, it is." O'Bannon looked over Luna's wedding gown and bit his lip, wondering how he should phrase the question he wanted to ask her.

Mireet, thankfully, saved him. "Congratulations, Luna." She hugged her. "That is a very . . . interesting wedding gown. What made you decide on this?"

"Well, I just thought a wedding is a very happy day. White, to me, is a rather bland color. Not very happy at all. But look at these colors." She ran a hand down her gown. "Who couldn't be happy looking at colors like these?"

"Um . . . yeah." O'Bannon had no idea how else to respond. He associated colors with sports teams, not emotions.

When the guests had finished congratulating Dean and Luna, Xenophilius Lovegood waved his wand. The chairs reformed into circles of six each. Circular tables with purple bushes as the centerpiece flew out from the Lovegood home and planted themselves in the middle of each cluster of chairs. That was followed by four large banquet tables piled with food and drink. The grass turned into a shiny, golden floor.

The food they had was delicious, though at times it was difficult to eat when figurines of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks burst from the centerpieces and ejected dazzling yellow and red sparks from their horns. O'Bannon and Mireet sat at a table with George, Lee Jordan and Alicia Spinnet, with Lee giving a rundown of his experiences at the World Cup. Alicia also kiddingly told Lee, O'Bannon and Mireet she "hated them all" for being able to watch the World Cup Final.

"Best of all," George said, "you didn't have a bunch of Death Eaters march through the place and wreak havoc like they did to the World Cup here." He grinned and shook his head. "To this day, I'm still amazed Dad was able to get us those tickets."

"Speaking of your Dad," Lee said. "What's going on with him?"

"What do you mean?"

"I ran into him before the wedding. All smiles, he was. I asked why he's so happy, and he just told me, 'You, and everyone else, will find out come Monday."

George shrugged. "I don't know, either. He's been like this all week. He won't even tell Mum. Just keeps saying it's a big surprise. Must be a good one considering how happy he is."

"Maybe he's gonna fly in an airplane," O'Bannon theorized. "You know how much he loves those things."

"Could be," George said. "Maybe he invited us all to go with him."

Before anyone could comment further, the plates vanished from all the tables, whether people were finished with their meals or not. Luna's father guided a large Wizarding Wireless over the guests, where it hovered and pumped out energetic music.

"Come, everyone! Time to dance!" Mr. Lovegood clapped his hands and stomped his feet. "Dance! This is a celebration."

Mr. Lovegood clapped and spun in a circle.

"Poor Luna." George shook his head. "Never had a chance, did she, with a father like that."

"Nope," both O'Bannon and Lee answered.

Most of the guests converged on the dance floor, including O'Bannon and Mireet. The music alternated between fast-paced and slow. O'Bannon actually enjoyed the slower songs more, since it gave him the chance to hold Mireet close.

"This reminds me of the Yule Ball," she said during one slow song, her head resting against O'Bannon's.

"Yeah, it does. Except one big difference."

"What?"

"At least tonight I know I'm gonna get lucky."

Mireet looked at him with a wry grin. "You think so?"

"Um, I hope so."

Mireet's smile widened, right before she kissed him. "You will."

O'Bannon softly laughed and pulled her against him.

A little while later he headed over to the buffet table, leaving Mireet to dance and chat with Katie Bell and Susan Bones. He got himself a butterbeer and scanned the crowd. Memories spooled through his head from six years ago, all of them together at Hogwarts, how he went from not liking anything about the school to making so many lifelong friends there. And how close he came to losing them all because of an incredibly selfish decision. It made him wonder how they might react if he decided to resume his hockey career. Would they think he was abandoning them again?

_No. They wouldn't think that. And I would never run out on them again. _

Surely his friends would know if he continued his hockey career it was because he wanted to pursue a sport that had been his passion since long before he learned he was a wizard.

_If _he decided to continue his hockey career.

"Jimmy, are you not happy?"

He turned to the right to find Luna gazing at him with those large, silvery eyes of hers.

"Huh? Oh, I'm fine."

"You don't look fine. You looked deep in thought. And they don't appear to be happy thoughts. I just want everyone to be happy on my wedding day. Not that I'm trying to force you to be, but still, I wouldn't want anyone to not enjoy themselves. Do you not like the food? Or the music?"

"No, no, Luna. Your wedding is awesome. Seriously. The stuff I'm thinking about has nothing to do with your wedding. It's just . . . some other stuff I've had on my mind lately."

"Oh. What is it?"

O'Bannon bit his lip, wondering if it would be appropriate to tell Luna when he hadn't even told Mireet yet.

Luna continued staring at him with expectant eyes.

He sighed. _Who knows? Maybe she can give you some good advice. She has in the past._

"It's just . . . I don't know what to do."

"But there are plenty of things you can do. You can dance, or get some more food, we still have plenty. Or you can mingle. In fact, I've been working on my mingling skills quite a bit today."

A perplexed look came over O'Bannon's face. "What. No, no, I'm not talking about your wedding. I mean, I don't know what to do with my life."

Luna tilted her head. "I don't understand. It seems to me you want to spend your life with Mireet, which I think is a good idea. She's very nice."

"Well yeah I wanna be with Mireet. What I'm talking about is what I want to do job-wise, career-wise."

"But you work at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes."

"I know that, but that's just a temporary thing while I'm in England."

"Oh. You plan on leaving?"

"Yeah." O'Bannon nodded. "Eventually. Maybe in another few weeks."

"That would be a shame. From what I can see, most of the people here are glad you're in England. I know Dean and I enjoyed having lunch with you and Mireet before you left for The Continent."

"Thanks. I wouldn't mind staying for a little longer."

"Then why don't you?"

O'Bannon sighed. "Because I have family and friends back in America, too, and I miss them. Plus I gotta figure out what I wanna do with the rest of my life."

"Well, what do you want to do?"

He frowned. "There are a couple things I have in mind, but it's not that simple. Mireet's part of the equation now. I have to take her into consideration."

"I understand. Still, what do _you_ want to do?"

O'Bannon shifted his weight from one leg to the other. He stared at the floor for a few seconds before looking up at Luna. "Deep down, what I really want to do is keep playing hockey."

He waited for Luna to say something. Instead she just stared at him, almost looking like she hadn't heard a word he said.

He continued. "I went through all kinds of hell after the war ended. But those nights when I put on that Fort Wayne Komets jersey and hit the ice, it was the best feeling ever. I went up against guys who were bigger than me, faster than me, more experienced than me, and I hung with 'em. I proved to myself, and everyone else, that I belonged out there on that ice, that I had what it took to play pro hockey. Now I wanna prove that I have what it takes to make it to the NHL, and skate with the best players in the world."

"Then do it, if that's what you want."

"And what about what Mireet wants?"

"What does she want?" Luna asked.

"I think she wants to spend more time with her family. I could sense it when we were in France, and when she was with her grandfather at the World Cup. I mean, she's lived and worked in the US for three years now. It'd be kinda unfair to do what I want and ignore what she wants."

"Why can't you do both? Don't the Muggles have places in Europe where they play hockey?"

"Yeah," O'Bannon answered. "There's probably a bunch of leagues in Scandinavia and Eastern Europe. I'm not sure about France, though. Anyway, I just want to do whatever it is that'll make Mireet happy."

"Even at the cost of your happiness?"

A long sigh escaped O'Bannon's lips. "I guess you have to do that sometimes in a relationship."

Luna turned away, staring blankly at . . . who knew what. O'Bannon rolled his eyes, knowing he should have kept his mouth shut. Who the heck knew what Luna was thinking right n-

"I don't believe you can have a healthy relationship where one person is happy and the other is not. You should both be able to do what makes you happy. Dean is happy making a living with his artwork, I'm happy working at _The Quibbler. _I'm sure you and Mireet can come up with a way to make you both happy. Oh! It seems Dean's mother wants to take another picture of me. Strange. I think she has roughly fifty pictures with me in them. You'd think that would be more than enough. Still, I shouldn't disappoint her. I'll see you later, Jimmy."

Luna drifted over to Mrs. Thomas. O'Bannon just stood his ground, pondering the words of the newly married witch.

**XXXXX**

"That was a wonderful wedding, was it not?" Mireet asked as they entered the guest room above Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

"Yeah, I had a good time," O'Bannon said as he closed the door, thoughts of the future swirling around his head.

"I am still amazed by Luna's choice of dress. Although, if it made her happy that is all that matters."

"Uh-huh."

"And now." Mireet turned to face him. She smiled wide and slowly glided over to him. "Remember when I said you would get lucky tonight?" She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him long and deep. His heart hammered like mad. Fire shot through his veins.

Still what the future might hold for them dominated his mind.

Mireet broke the kiss. A concerned look then fell over her face. "Jimmy? Is something wrong?"

He chewed on his lower lip for a few moments, then sighed. "Mireet. We need to talk."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	32. Muggles and Magic

**CHAPTER 32: MUGGLES AND MAGIC**

* * *

_Well, the decision's been made._

O'Bannon continued doing his crunches on the living room floor. He'd lost count of how many he'd done, his mind replaying the big talk he had with Mireet last night. He wondered how their friends and families would react to it. Some, he knew, would be happy. Others . . . well, who knew?

_Either way, this is what we agreed to, and we're gonna stick with it._

He did another crunch. How many was that now? Sixty? Seventy?

A tapping came from the window. He turned to find a brown owl perched on the window sill.

"Jimmy." Mireet called from the bathroom. "What is that?"

"Someone sent us an owl." He got off the floor, walked to the window and opened it. The owl flew inside, carrying a letter in its talons. He dropped it on their small dining table and sat there until O'Bannon gave him a treat. The bird hooted and flew out the window.

"Who is it from?" Mireet emerged from the bathroom, brushing her long blond hair.

He checked the envelope. "It's from Mister Weasley."

O'Bannon waited for Mireet to join him before opening the envelope. They read over the letter and exchanged curious looks.

After they finished dressing and ate breakfast, they headed downstairs to the shop. George stood near the front counter.

"Hey, George. It looks like we're gonna have to take a few hours off this morning. Your father wants us over at the Ministry."

"You too?"

O'Bannon's brow furrowed. He crossed the rest of the way to George and read the letter he held in his hand. It had the same message as the one he and Mireet received.

_Please meet me on the second floor of the Ministry of Magic, Room 235 at nine o'clock this morning. I have something important to share with you._

"Ron Flooed me a few minutes ago," George told them. "Said he and Hermione got the same letter."

"So what do you think this is all about?" asked O'Bannon.

George shrugged. "Only one way to find out."

**XXXXX**

The three Apparated to the Ministry of Magic. After they checked in their wands and received their silver visitor's badges, they rode the elevator – _lift – _to the second floor.

"Bloody hell! Watch it! Coming through!"

The three stepped to the side as a short, harried-looking wizard hurried by them, one arm wrapped around a wooden box, the other arm pressed down on a lid that something inside slammed against. O'Bannon heard an angry snarl from the box as the wizard disappeared around the corner.

"What does he have in there?" Mireet inquired.

O'Bannon shook his head. "I'm not real anxious to find out."

They continued down the hall until they reached Room 235. The door was open, so they walked in. O'Bannon noticed a desk across the room with several boxes piled on it. A filing cabinet stood in the corner. The bland beige walls did not have any portraits, photos or decorations. It appeared as though someone was moving into this office.

"So he invited you three as well?"

They swung their heads to the left. A dark, wooden conference table stretched from one end of the room to the other. O'Bannon counted twenty chairs, some of which were occupied by people he knew.

Mrs. Weasley, who came over to hug them. He also spotted Harry and Ginny, Ron and Hermione, Bill – no Fleur, who was probably home taking care of little Victoire – and Percy. O'Bannon drew his head back in surprise when he noticed Dean and Luna at the table. Both looked rather tired. Then again, last night had been their wedding night, and Luna wanted to start having kids right away.

"Mum?" George titled his head at Mrs. Weasley. "What are you doing here? Did Dad invite you, too? What going on?"

Mrs. Weasley huffed and shook her head. "Like I've told everyone else, I have no idea. Whatever big news Arthur has, he hasn't told me. Just walks around the house smiling, saying it's good news. Oh, he's been infuriating."

"Blimey," a new voice blurted. "I didn't know all of you were going to be here. Hello, Harry."

All heads turned. O'Bannon's eyes widened briefly in surprise when he noticed Dennis Creevey standing near the door. Behind him was one of his former Triad teammates, Justin Finch-Fletchley.

The two came over and greeted everyone. O'Bannon couldn't help but notice how tall Dennis had gotten since the last time he saw him during the Longathian Tunnel Affair. He did a quick calculation in his head.

_My God. He'll be starting his Seventh Year at Hogwarts._ He corrected himself. This would actually be Dennis' Sixth Year. He had missed all of his Fourth Year as Voldemort had ruled England during that time and Muggle-borns like Dennis had been hunted across the country. A pang of sympathy went through O'Bannon as he thought about Dennis' brother Colin, who died during the Battle of Hogwarts. He wondered how he was coping with that.

"I'm still at a loss as to why Mister Weasley would invite us here," Justin said in his clipped voice.

"So are the rest of us," Ron said.

A quizzical look came over Justin's face. "He hasn't told you, his own son?"

"He hasn't told any of his sons," George noted.

"Or his daughter," added Ginny.

O'Bannon chewed on the inside of his cheek. Mr. Weasley didn't strike him as someone who would keep good news so close to the vest. _Whatever it is must be really big._

"And why would he invite us to this office?" Percy wondered. "Why not his?"

"I just don't understand why he'd invite me here at all," said Justin. "I've only met the man perhaps on two or three occasions, and only very briefly at that."

"Same here," Dennis added. "And I was never in the same class with any of the Weasleys. Well, except for the DA. But I don't -"

"Oh good, good. You're all here."

Mr. Weasley strode into the office, a huge smile on his face.

The bombardment of questions began immediately.

"Arthur, what's the meaning of this?"

"What's going on?"

"What's this important news?"

Mr. Weasley raised both his hands. "Now, now. I apologize for all the secrecy, but I assure you, as the Muggles say, 'There's a _mophead _to my _mindness.'"_

O'Bannon cleared his throat. "Um, Mister Weasley. I think you mean, 'A method to your madness.'"

"Yes! Exactly! That's exactly one of the reasons I called you all here."

O'Bannon's face scrunched up. What the heck did that mean? He turned to Mireet and George. They looked as dumbfounded as he did.

"So are you going to finally let us in on this big news, Dad?" Bill asked.

"In just a few moments. I just . . ."

Mr. Weasley's words were drowned out by the moans of every redheaded person in the room.

"Arthur." Mrs. Weasley put her hands on her hips. "I swear if you don't tell me right this second what you're up to I will hex you until your face looks like a cross between a troll and a slug!"

"What's this?" A baritone voice asked from the doorway. "Arthur, you haven't told your family yet?"

Everyone looked to the door. O'Bannon's eyes widened. Several gasps of surprise went up around him.

Entering the office was none other than British Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt.

Everyone sitting down got to their feet and greeted the tall, bald black wizard. Minister Shacklebolt smiled and waved everyone to sit back down.

"Good morning, Minister." Mr. Weasley shook his hand. "Sorry, but I just wanted to really surprise everyone with this news."

"And what is it?" George demanded.

Mr. Weasley smiled, stepped to the door, and waved his wand. A brass plate shimmered on the top half of the door. Mrs. Weasley stepped over to it. Her mouth opened wide and her hands went to her mouth.

"What is it, Mrs. Weasley?" asked Harry.

"Oh . . . Oh Arthur." She turned to her children and their friends, a huge smile on her face. "It says, 'Arthur Weasley, Head of the Muggle Relations Office.'"

Congratulations rained down on a beaming Mr. Weasley. O'Bannon gave the man a vigorous handshake before his children mobbed him. Happiness coursed through O'Bannon. Mr. Weasley had always been fascinated by Muggles. A job like this suited him perfectly.

"Arthur, I'm so proud of you." Mrs. Weasley gave her husband a big kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you. Thank you all." He held Mrs. Weasley by the waist, grinning at everyone in the room like a small boy on Christmas Day. "This is like a dream come true."

"And well earned." Shacklebolt clasped Mr. Weasley on the shoulder. "I can't think of anyone in the Ministry better suited for this job, especially with this new initiative I have in mind."

"What initiative, Minister?" Hermione asked.

"Ah. That's another reason I invited you all here, especially you Muggle-borns. Along with celebrating my promotion with you all, I also wanted your input on our new initiative. Sit, please."

Once everyone took their seats, Mr. Weasley began. "As you're all aware, one of the driving forces behind V-Voldemort's attempt to take over the world was his belief that Muggle-borns and Muggles were inferior to purebloods. Sadly, it was a philosophy many others throughout the Wizarding World bought into. Because of that, we suffered through not one, but two devastating wars. Minister Shacklebolt has made it a priority to combat that sort of hate and intolerance and hopefully prevent the rise of future dark lords and Death Eaters."

Mr. Weasley took a quick breath before continuing. "To that end, we are launching an initiative to seek out ideas on how we can bring about a better understanding between magical folk and Muggles."

O'Bannon smiled wide and nodded. He had long hoped to hear those words from someone in a position of power.

Hermione's hand shot into the air.

Mr. Weasley chuckled. "Oh come now, Hermione. You're not in school any more. You don't have to raise your hand."

Ron and George turned their heads and laughed to themselves. Hermione fixed both of them with glares before speaking. "Well, Mr. Weasley, Minister. I think one thing we can do is make improvements to the curriculum for the Muggles Studies class. When I took it my Third Year, mainly to see how wizards viewed Muggles, I found it full of inaccuracies and misinformation, and my teacher, Professor Burbage, would get annoyed when I tried to correct her."

"Which you probably did every five minutes," Ron muttered.

O'Bannon, George, Dean and Harry barely stifled their laughter. Hermione scowled at all of them before continuing. "The point is, it will be hard for wizards and witches to have a better understanding of Muggles if they are not given accurate information about them."

"Hear, hear," Dean chimed in.

"Also," Hermione went on. "Much of what Professor Burbage taught in class had to do with Muggle technology and very little to do with history and society and culture. Students in those classes should be exposed to Muggle music and literature. They should know about significant events like World War Two, the Napoleonic Wars, the rise and fall of the Roman Empire. They should know about Muggles who've made significant contributions to the world, like Gandhi and Thomas Edison and Jonas Salk."

"But if we're going to be fair, Hermione," Dean interjected, "we also need to tell them about some of our own versions of Voldemort, like Hitler and Al Capone and Saddam Hussein. We do have to show the good as well as the bad."

"Absolutely. And also show how other Muggles fought and defeated those three and others like them."

"Yes, yes! Good, good!" Mr. Weasley practically bounced in his chair. "Just the sort of ideas I was hoping for. Oh, I should be writing this down." He used a Summoning Charm to fetch some parchment, a quill and a bottle of ink. "Anything else?"

"Well," said Hermione. "I have noticed that there are some rather archaic laws still on the books that are decidedly Anti-Muggle-born. For instance, according to the law, it is illegal for any Muggle-born to hold a job or attend a school outside the Wizarding World after they have turned seventeen."

"What? Are you kidding?" O'Bannon blurted. "I know America had laws like that, too, but we ditched 'em, like, back in the forties."

"Honestly, laws like that aren't even enforced any more," Shacklebolt pointed out.

"True," said Hermione. "The same with another law that limits a Muggle-born witch from only bearing two children in her lifetime. While they may not be enforced any more, they can still reinforce the perception that Muggle-borns need to be treated differently from purebloods."

"Excellent point, Hermione." Shacklebolt nodded to her. "In fact, once I leave this meeting I am going to send recommendations to the Wizengamot to have them start the process to repeal these ridiculous laws. And I would like you to help with that."

Hermione's eyes and face lit up. "Of course, Minister. Thank you."

O'Bannon sat up straighter, staring at Shacklebolt. He gained a whole new respect for the man. _This is how a politician should be. _When something needed to be fixed, you didn't just talk about it or form useless committees or simply ignore it. You actually tried to fix it. He wished more politicians, both magical and Muggle, could be like Shacklebolt.

More ideas were bandied about. Justin recommended making Muggle Studies a required class. Mireet wondered about inviting the relatives of Muggle-borns to Hogwarts as guest speakers. Dennis offered to form a Muggle/Muggle-born Appreciation Club at Hogwarts. Dean suggested that the Hogwarts library create a section for Muggle DVDs and CDs, now that spells existed to allow them to be played in magical environments.

"I wonder if maybe I could expand my business," George said. "Sell Muggle DVDs and CDs myself."

"How about field trips?" O'Bannon offered. "I mean, when I was going to Muggle elementary school, we did field trips all the time to museums, the zoo, the State House. I don't see any reason students in this world can't do the same."

"Excellent, Jimmy! Excellent!" Mr. Weasley grinned wide. "Oh! Perhaps we can take students on a trip to . . . um, um. What's that place where the Muggles keep all their _airy-plins?"_

"An airport."

"Yes! The airport. I'm sure they'd enjoy that. And maybe we could get them to actually fly on an _airy-plin._ What an experience that would be."

The corners of O'Bannon's mouth twisted. _I'm not so sure about that. _He recalled Rosa's disastrous first experience with Muggle air travel. To this day she refused to ever set foot on an airplane again.

"The best part of all this," Mr. Weasley continued, "is we can share these ideas with other countries. Mireet, your mother works for French Ministry's Office of Muggle Relations. Surely she can pass these recommendations on to her superiors. And Jimmy. Your friend Artimus works for the American Office of Wizarding-Muggle Relations. Even better, your other friend Rosa's father is the US Secretary of Magic. Seems a very decent chap from everything I heard. He'd be on board with an initiative like this, wouldn't he?"

"I'm sure of it."

"Wonderful. In fact, you two could be our point people in your respective countries for our initiative."

O'Bannon turned to Mireet. She bit her lower lip. He did the same and turned back to the new Head of the Muggle Relations Office. "Um, actually, Mister Weasley, there might be a problem with that."

"Oh. What might that be?"

"Well, Mireet and I were talking last night, and well, we do plan on going back to The States in a couple weeks, but then we're coming back to England."

Several stunned "whats" came from around the table.

"We plan on staying in this country for a while longer. Actually, a lot longer."

Joyous shouts and cheers broke out.

"Cool," Dean said.

"That's wonderful," Ginny added.

"So what made you decide on that?" George asked.

"Well, Mireet's been living and working in the US for over three years. I figured it's time she come back to Europe, live closer to her family."

Mireet smiled, reached out and grasped his hand. Both of Ginny's hands covered her chest as she beamed at the couple.

"So," O'Bannon continued, "we're gonna head back to America, take care of some business there, then come back to England."

"Well, that's not a problem," Mr. Weasley said. "There's plenty you can do here in England to help all three of our countries. I'm sure we can find places for you in this office to work. Right, Minister?"

Shacklebolt nodded. "From everything I've heard about you two from Arthur and Harry, and from my counterpart in America, I'd be honored if you would come and work for our Muggle Relations Office."

"_Merci, _Minister," Mireet responded. "I would love to do whatever I can to make your initiative successful."

O'Bannon clasped his hands together. "Yeah. So would I. But . . ." He sighed, his gaze falling to the table.

"Is there a problem, Jimmy?" asked Mr. Weasley.

O'Bannon chewed on his lower lip. He squeezed his hands tighter and forced himself to turn to Mr. Weasley and Minister Shacklebolt. "Look, I've always wished for this, ways to give purebloods a better understanding of Muggles. And I want to do whatever I can to help. But . . ." He paused, wondering how he could phrase this without sounding selfish.

He drew a breath and stiffened his back. After taking in everyone at the table, he spoke. "When I left the Wizarding World to become a hockey player, I did it for the wrong reasons. I wanted to forget about everything that happened during the war. Not that I succeeded in that. In fact, things got even worse. But on the flip side, I did pretty good on the ice. And I can't help but think if maybe I had my head on straight for the whole season, I could have done a great job. The point is, I proved I can play pro hockey. And I want to see how far I can go with this."

He scanned each face, trying to judge their reactions. No one looked upset by his decision, at least outwardly.

"I am not going to abandon this world, or any of you guys. But ever since I was a little kid, I dreamed about playing in the NHL, just like every kid who's ever laced up the skates, grabbed a stick and hit the ice. I know this may sound like a strange thing to do for someone who's spent half his life in the Wizarding World, but I have a chance to make this dream come true. Maybe a slim chance, but a chance nonetheless. And it's a chance I want to take. I don't want to sit around twenty years from now, looking back on my life, and saying, 'why didn't I go for it?' That may not be what you wanted to hear from me, but I hope you understand where I'm coming from. I swear, I will do whatever I can to make this Muggle understanding initiative a success, but I also want to pursue a career as a professional hockey player."

He held his breath, looking around the table. No one spoke. Anxiety grew within him. Would they accept his decision? Would they think he was betraying them again?

O'Bannon clenched his teeth, wishing someone would say something.

"I think it's a brilliant idea."

He drew his head back in surprise, eyes bulging as he gawked at Hermione. _Did she really say my idea was brilliant?_

"Um . . . huh?"

"I think you playing hockey is another way we can make the Minister's initiative work."

"Really? How?"

"Think about it. Most Muggle-borns become so enamored with the Wizarding World they start to ignore their Muggle roots, or lose interest in Muggle things. That probably becomes more pronounced when they marry witches and wizards and live in a completely magical environment. But if you're working in the Muggle World, living among Muggles and traveling with them, you'd be in a position to keep the Wizarding World updated on the latest Muggle news and developments. We can implement that into the Muggle Studies curriculum. Perhaps you could even speak to Muggle Studies classes at Hogwarts or Salem about Muggle current events."

"I think Hermione's idea has merit," Shacklebolt said. "We can make you, I don't know, our special secret liaison between the Wizarding World and the Muggle World. Well, we can figure out an exact title later. The important question is, are you interested in doing that?"

"Heck yeah I am . . . um, Minister."

"But is there a place in Muggle England where you can play hockey?" asked Ginny.

"Actually there is. They just started a new league called the Elite Ice Hockey League, supposed to be the top professional league in England. I'm gonna try to hook up with one of those teams."

"So you get to play hockey, help spread tolerance and understanding between wizards and Muggles, and oh yeah, you're dating a gorgeous French witch." George grinned at him. "Face it, Jimmy Boy. You got it made."

O'Bannon let out a slow breath and nodded. George's words couldn't have been any truer. He shook his head. Barely two months ago he had no idea what he wanted to do with his life. A year ago he didn't want anything to do with the Wizarding World. Now . . . now he could play the sport he loved and help both the Wizarding and Muggle Worlds.

He sat back in his chair, remembering the day of the Triad/Slytherin game. Actually, the memory he called up was of after the game, talking to Headmaster Dumbledore, who told him that forming the Triad helped bring people of different backgrounds together, united purebloods, half-bloods and Muggle-borns from four different countries, and created lasting friendships among the team members. O'Bannon recalled one particular thought he had after Dumbledore had finished talking to him. It was a thought that rang just as true now as it did that day nearly six years ago.

_Who knew one game of hockey could change the world?_

The meeting wrapped up an hour later, with Minister Shacklebolt congratulating O'Bannon and Mireet on their new roles with the Ministry's Muggle Relations Office. The others gave them hugs and handshakes, looking thrilled that they would be staying in England for the foreseeable future.

"So when are you leaving for The States?" George asked. "And how long are you going to stay there?"

"I was thinking we'd leave sometime next week, stay a week so Mireet can turn in her notice to the French Embassy and collect her stuff, I can tell my coach from the Komets what I'm up to, and just spend a little more time with my parents and my friends."

"Good. Good." George slowly worked his jaw back and forth. He stayed quiet for several seconds.

"Dude. You okay?"

"Um, yeah. I was just . . . I was just wondering if you could do me a favor."

"Yeah. Name it."

George paused again. "I was wondering if you could deliver a letter for me."

"Sure. To who?"

George let out a long sigh. "Rosa."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	33. A Breach Of Trust

**CHAPTER 33: A BREACH OF TRUST**

* * *

Laughter burst around the table. O'Bannon gazed at Rosa and her parents, all of them in hysterics after hearing his story about the enchanted water pistols that turned him, Mireet and George different colors. Despite the air of joyfulness, a flicker of sorrow sprouted within him. He wondered when was the last time Rosa's family had been in such high spirits. Certainly it had to be before the war.

He leaned back in his chair, recalling the past two years. So much pain, so much loss, so much hopelessness. They had been united in war, and nearly tore themselves apart in peacetime.

_Actually, we did tear each other apart._

But they put the pieces back together. They had gone through trials more challenging than anything they had faced during the war, and survived them, became stronger because of them.

O'Bannon took a deep breath and looked around the Infante's dining room table. The smile on his face grew. For the first time in years, things felt normal.

"Thank you again for inviting us to dinner, Mister and Mrs. Infante," Mireet said.

"Oh it's our pleasure." Mrs. Infante smiled. "You're only back in the US for, what, two weeks? Then it's back to England. Who knows when we're going to see you again?"

"So do you know what team you're going to play for, Jimmy?" asked Mr. Infante.

"Well, two days after we get back I've got a tryout with the Nottingham Panthers. Luckily, Mister Letren, the guy with the Bruins front office, said he was cool with me playing in England. Said so long as I'm playing pro hockey somewhere, it's good."

"I'd wish you good luck, Jimmy." Rosa reached over and patted his shoulder, "but I know you'll make it."

"Thanks, Rosa."

"And you'll have to write us and let us know how you're both doing over there." Mrs. Infante smiled wistfully. "First Jared, now you two. Feels like everyone's heading overseas these days."

O'Bannon gave a silent, contented sigh. He couldn't be happier that Jared had finally patched things up with his aunt and uncle. In all the time he'd known them, the Infantes had been like a second set of parents for Jared. The past year couldn't have been easy on any of them.

_One more wrong set right._

"Speaking of Jared, how's he doing over in Thailand?"

"Judging by his last letter, he's really happy over there," Rosa answered. "Of course, I think it has more to do with who he's with than where he's at."

Mireet's face brightened. "So everything is well between him and Tasanee?"

"Sounds it. I've never heard him talk about any girl the way he talks about Tasanee."

"Good." O'Bannon nodded. "Tasanee seemed pretty cool when I met her over there. Hopefully things go better with her than they did with Michelle Bunker."

Rosa's mouth twisted. "He better not mess things up with Tasanee like he did Michelle. Of course, I think he's grown up a lot since then, and I think he realizes just how special a witch Tasanee is."

"Wow." O'Bannon's eyes widened. "I can't believe it. You actually used the words 'Jared' and "grown up' in the same sentence."

"Yeah. Will miracles never cease?"

Everyone around the table laughed.

Dinner was topped off with Norace Nickerbaker's Never-Melt Ice Cream – Pea-Nutty Butter flavor, with a layer of all kinds of nuts covering peanut butter ice cream. The group conversed for another hour before O'Bannon and Mireet decided to leave.

While she hugged the Infantes good-bye, he guided Rosa to the other side of the kitchen.

"What's up?" she asked.

"Um . . . I have something for you. Actually, it's something someone else wanted me to give to you."

Rosa's face scrunched in curiosity. "Who? What?"

The veins in O'Bannon's neck stuck out. "Um . . ." Instead of going on, he reached into his robes and pulled out an envelope. He hesitated for a moment before handing it to her.

Rosa's mouth fell open when she read the name O'Bannon knew was written in the upper left hand corner. GEORGE WEASLEY.

She closed her mouth, her cheeks reddening. "A letter? A lousy letter?"

O'Bannon swallowed. "Rosa, I . . . Just read it. I'm sure he's sorry for what happened at the medal ceremony."

Rosa said nothing. She just glowered at the envelope.

"C'mon. George gave me a second chance. Do the same for him, okay?"

Her eyes shifted from the envelope to him. She answered with a very non-committal grunt.

O'Bannon frowned, praying eventually she'd read it. He then hugged her. "It was great seeing you again. Mireet and I will keep in touch."

"You better."

"I promise."

He released Rosa and walked over to her parents.

"It was good seeing you again, Jimmy." Mr. Infante shook his hand. "By the way, would it be possible for you and Mireet to come by my office Tuesday morning, say around ten o'clock?"

"Sure. What for?"

"I think it's high time we get this Muggle-born initiative moving forward, and I'd like to hear the ideas you discussed over in Britain with Arthur Weasley." Mr. Infante cast his gaze to the ceiling for a moment in thought. "I should probably invite Artimus, too. Maybe even Jenna. The Office of Wizarding-Muggle Relations did try to implement some ideas to create more understanding and tolerance of Muggles and Muggle-borns. But with reconstruction, preparing for elections last year, negotiating with reptoids and giants and other creatures, that proposal got pushed to the side. It's time that ends. If we're going to combat the kind of pureblood fanaticism responsible for the last two big wars, we need to do this sooner rather than later."

"You bet we'll be there. Anything we can do to help."

"Good." Mr. Infante smiled and shook O'Bannon's hand again. "You have my word, Jimmy, I will make this initiative a top priority."

He nodded and smiled. He'd known Mr. Infante long enough to know that if the man gave his word, he was good for it. He wished more politicians could be like that, in both the Wizarding and Muggle Worlds.

Mrs. Infante then came over and hugged him. "We have to do this again. I guess next year when you two come back from England."

"You got it, Mrs. Infante."

"And give your parents my best."

O'Bannon winced. "Uh . . . yeah, sure." His voice trailed off.

Mrs. Infante's shoulders sagged. "I guess they're still upset at us, aren't they?"

"Heh! Upset is an understatement."

"Well, I guess I can't blame them. We did put you in danger, after all."

"No you didn't. None of you made me fight in the war. That was my decision and mine alone. I just wish my mom and dad could see it that way."

"Don't be too harsh on them. You are their son, their _only son. _They have every right to be mad at anyone they think may have endangered your life."

O'Bannon grunted. "Yeah, I guess."

Mrs. Infante gave him a brief grin. "Believe me, you'll understand when you have children of your own. Meantime, I have been meaning to talk to your parents about . . . well, what happened with you during the war. But with running the Aurors Bureau and helping Irving get back on his feet . . . still, that was no excuse to take a few minutes one day to see two people I consider friends, and apologize to them."

"Good luck there. Mom and Dad we're less than thrilled when I told them Mireet and I were coming over here tonight. You're gonna have your work cut out for you apologizing to them."

"Like you had your work cut out for you when you went around apologizing to your friends here and in England?"

O'Bannon responded with a half-smile. "Good point."

Mrs. Infante bit her lower lip. "If you could let your parents know that I'd like to come by sometime this week, I'd appreciate it."

"Yeah. Sure." Nervousness boiled inside him. He thought back to Mom's blow up a few months ago when he told her and Dad _everything_ he had done during the war. He then recalled his parents' reaction when he told them about going to the Infantes' for dinner. Mom had said, _"_Fine," but in a tone that indicated it wasn't fine. Her silence, and the scowl she wore right up till he and Mireet left also spoke volumes of her thoughts on the Infantes.

After a final round of good-byes, O'Bannon and Mireet stepped into the green flames gushing from the fireplace. Seconds later they stepped into the living room of his parents' house. Both Mom and Dad turned to them as the Floo flames vanished.

"I wished you'd use the front door instead," Mom said.

"Sorry." O'Bannon frowned. True his mother had always been a little nervous about Floo travel, probably worried – unnecessarily so – that the flames would burn down the house. But in time she, begrudgingly, accepted it.

That no longer appeared to be the case. In fact, Mom seemed skittish around any kind of magic she saw. Even Dad would groan and make a face if he or Mireet used their wands or an owl dropped off a letter. Fear clutched his chest, fear his parents would turn into magic-hating lunatics like Harry Potter's horrible aunt and uncle.

_No way that'll happen. No way._

_I hope._

"How was dinner?" Dad asked in a flat tone.

"It was very nice," Mireet answered.

O'Bannon chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Um, Mr. and Mrs. Infante say hi."

Dad stared at him for a few seconds before giving him a very brief nod. Mom snorted and looked away.

"Mom, c'mon."

"Don't tell me to 'come on,' Jimmy. Those people involved you in a war when you were still in school and didn't tell your father and me anything about it."

O'Bannon rolled his eyes. "We're not gonna rehash this again, are we? How many times do I have to tell you I involved myself in the war?"

"But they knew about it," Dad said. "They're the ones who gave you the orders to break into Hogwarts and fight those Chupa . . . Chupa-whatevers. They're the ones who decided we didn't need to know our son was putting his life at risk."

"I decided that." O'Bannon pointed at his chest. "And Mr. and Mrs. Infante wanted to let you know they're sorry for all that."

"This isn't the kind of thing saying 'I'm sorry' makes up for," said Mom.

O'Bannon sighed. His jaw clenched his hesitation. "Um . . . well, um, Mrs. Infante actually wanted to come over here sometime this week and apologize in person."

Dad groaned and rubbed his forehead. Mom shook her head and stared at the ceiling. "I don't want that woman in my house."

"Mom, c'mon." O'Bannon walked over to her.

"Jimmy, I don't -"

"Mom, please," he cut her off. He took a deep breath, steadying his voice. "Mom, you used to be friends with the Infantes, and the Diazes. All right, they kept you in the dark about what I did during the war. So did I. And yeah, it was wrong. Mrs. Infante is sincerely sorry about it. All I'm askin' is that you hear her out. Please, for me."

Mom looked over to Dad. The two stared at one another for several, silent seconds. The corners of Dad's mouth curled, and he gave a small shrug of the shoulders.

Mom exhaled slowly and turned back to him. "All right," she muttered. "For you."

He frowned. Not exactly the response he'd hoped for. But given his parents' current feelings about the Infantes, he figured it would have to do for now.

**XXXXX**

O'Bannon chewed on his tuna fish sandwich as he gazed out the sliding glass door that led from the dining room to the backyard. Sheets of rain fell from the gray sky, drenching the ground and creating a constant patter on the roof. It had been four days since his dinner with the Infantes, and so far Rosa's mother hadn't shown up. Part of him dreaded hearing a knock, opening the door, and seeing her there. He remembered Mom's anger that day he told her the truth about everything he'd gone through during, and after, the war. Would seeing Mrs. Infante revive that rage?

He clenched his jaw, thinking how Mom had directed all that anger at Mireet, how she threatened to kick her out of the house.

He looked away from the window and the downpour beyond it and focused on his mother and Mireet. The French witch was relating some of her experiences working at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. When Mireet told of her mishap when mixing a new batch of Fainting Fancies, which caused to fall into a shelf and resulted in a goose-egg on her noggin, Mom laughed. A genuine laugh. His insides warmed as he watched his girlfriend and his mother continue to talk. While Mom may be more uncomfortable with the magical world than at any time since his First Year at Salem, at least she seemed back on good terms with Mireet. It gave him hope that the same would happen between Mom and Mrs. Infante.

_Then again, Mireet was just a soldier, like me. She wasn't giving the orders like Rosa's parents._ Plus Mireet had saved him from spiraling into the abyss of depression and alcoholism. He couldn't see how Mom could harbor a grudge against someone who'd done that, witch or not.

O'Bannon sighed to himself. Mom had been right. It would probably take more than an "I'm sorry" to fix things between her and Mrs. Infante.

After lunch, he and Mireet decided to head upstairs to his room to watch TV. His girlfriend had mentioned that she was curious about "this Indiana Jones person Jared obsesses over." So O'Bannon felt that a rainy Saturday afternoon would be a perfect time to introduce her to the awesomeness that was _Raiders Of The Lost Ark_. Plus they had quite a lot of time to kill before they all went over to his grandparents' house for dinner. Which reminded him, since they didn't know about him being a wizard, he and Mireet would have to come up with a cover story to pass her off as a Muggle.

_Well, she's almost twenty-two, so college student would be the best thing. Now we just have to pick a major she can –_

The doorbell rang just as he started up the stairs.

O'Bannon's head whipped toward the front door. Tension coiled around his muscles. He glanced at Mireet. From the look on her face, it appeared she, like him, had a feeling who it was.

"Um, I got it," he called to his parents. Holding his breath, he headed to the front door. The doorbell rang a second time before he opened it.

"Hello, Jimmy." Mrs. Infante stood in front of him, holding, of all things, an umbrella.

"Um, hey, Mrs. Infante. Um . . . come in." He felt his heartbeat increase fueled by nervousness.

"Thank you. Hello, Mireet."

O'Bannon shut the door as Mrs. Infante closed her umbrella. She then pulled out her wand and cast a Drying Charm on it. "I'd much rather use a Bubble-Headed Charm than this thing, but that, of course, wouldn't be wise in a Muggle neighborhood."

Someone huffed nearby. O'Bannon turned to find Mom standing in the middle of the living room, arms folded, glaring at Mrs. Infante. Dad stood beside Mom, unsmiling.

Mrs. Infante straightened her back and stiffened her face. Despite the aura of confidence the witch projected, O'Bannon could tell she was very nervous.

"Ellen. Douglas."

"Adelaide," Dad said in a flat tone.

Mom said nothing. If anything, her glare became harsher.

Mrs. Infante drew a breath. "Um . . . can we talk?"

O'Bannon looked to his parents, tension constricting his chest. He silently pleaded with them to say yes.

Mom's eyes flickered to him. She frowned for a moment and returned her gaze to Mrs. Infante. "Sure."

Mrs. Infante took another step toward them. She clasped her hands together. "First of all, I should have done this sooner. But I had so many . . . sorry. There's no excuse for me not seeing you sooner." She paused. "I know you're both upset over the things Jimmy did during the war, especially when he was still in school . . ."

"Upset?" Mom snapped. "Upset? Upset doesn't even begin to describe how we feel, Adelaide."

"Mom, c'mon." O'Bannon stepped toward her. "Will you give her a chance, please?"

Mrs. Infante held up her hand to him. Reluctantly, he kept his mouth shut as Mom continued.

"You lied to us. You lied right to our faces. Not only did you lie to us, you betrayed our trust. When I sent Jimmy to Salem, when I let him stay over your house, I expected your family and the teachers at Salem to keep him safe. But instead, you drafted him into your war."

"He wanted to fight, Ellen."

"You could have said no." This from Dad. "You're the adult. You fought in the first war against Voldemort. You knew how bad things could get. But you still let him fight, and while he was still in school!"

"This is our son, Adelaide. Our son! Our only child!" Mom shook with anger, her eyes glistening behind her glasses. "And look what your war did to him. It made him depressed. It turned him into an alcoholic! He got so bad he was even arrested and thrown in jail back in Fort Wayne. But you know that. You went there and got him out. And you never bothered to tell us!"

Mrs. Infante's jaw quivered briefly. "I know. I should have. Maybe I just hoped Jimmy made a mistake, a big one, obviously, and he would see it as a wake-up call. I guess . . . I guess I didn't realize just how bad he was." She turned to him with an apologetic look. He managed a half-smile and a nod, hoping Mrs. Infante wouldn't beat herself up too much over it.

She sighed and continued. "I should have come seen you right away, and told you what happened. But with everything that was happening at the time with my family . . ." Mrs. Infante closed her eyes and looked away for a couple seconds. "No. That's no excuse. Jimmy's like part of my family. I -"

"He's not part of your family! He's part of _my_ family!" Mom's eyes blazed with rage.

"I know, Ellen. I probably overstepped my bounds. But when the war broke out, Rosa and Jared were involved in it almost from the start. Naturally I was scared out of my mind over what might happen to them. I had more than my share of sleepless nights, worrying about them during their missions to England, when they were in the Appalachians protecting those children. The mother in me just wanted them to be by my side all the time to keep them safe. But our family has a tradition of protecting the Wizarding World from evil, going back to when my family was still in Cuba and my husband's family was still in Puerto Rico. I expected my daughter and nephew to do the same, and perhaps, because of how close Jimmy was to them, I expected the same of him. I don't think I gave much thought as to what you might think of your son fighting a war at such a young age."

"Obviously you didn't." Mom locked her harsh gaze on Mrs. Infante. "Why should you? After all, we're just poor little Muggles, with no magical powers whatsoever. What do our opinions or feelings matter when it comes to wars in your world?"

Mrs. Infante's head dipped. Her shoulders slumped. "Maybe . . . maybe I did think that."

O'Bannon gaped at her. He blinked slowly, replaying Mrs. Infante's words in his mind. No way could she have said that. In all the years he'd known Rosa's mother, she never gave him a single, solitary reason to make him think she thought so little of Muggles. He glanced over to Mireet, whose shock no doubt mirrored his.

Mrs. Infante's face sagged as she continued. "All my life, I prided myself in not buying into all that pureblood fanaticism, that Muggles were inferior to us because they couldn't do magic. But our wars are so different from yours. The things we can do to one another, curses and dark magic that even some witches and wizards can't comprehend. Maybe I did convince myself there was no way for you to understand what all of us had gone through. I even fought alongside Muggles during the Battle of Helghorst Island, and in spite of everything they did that day I still have this feeling deep down that problems involving witches and wizards should be handled by witches and wizards. This even as Esteban and Oriana are actually seeing the relative of a Muggle-born who's a marriage counselor, and apparently it's helping them quite a bit."

Mrs. Infante took a couple hesitant steps toward Mom and Dad. "Ellen, Douglas. All I can do is tell you I'm sorry. I am so sorry my family and I kept so much from you, and I am so sorry I betrayed your trust when it came to Jimmy. I know you probably hate me right now, but I just ask that you believe me when I say I do consider you my friends, and I value that friendship very much, and I hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me for everything I've done to you."

The only sound that permeated the living room was the steady patter of rain hitting the roof. O'Bannon held his breath, his eyes darting between his parents and Mrs. Infante. His anxiety grew with every passing second.

_Please, Mom. Please, Dad. Please accept her apology. Please._

Mom stared at the floor, her face stiffened in thought. Dad kept his eyes on Mrs. Infante, flexing his jaw. O'Bannon mentally screamed at them to say something.

His muscles knotted when Mom lifted her head.

"Adelaide, for some things, saying you're sorry just isn't good enough. Especially when it concerns my son."

O'Bannon's stomach collapsed. Disappointment swelled inside him. He clenched his jaw when he saw Mrs. Infante's reaction. A jolt of disbelief went through him. It almost looked like she was about to cry.

And it took a lot to make that witch cry.

"I think you should go, Adelaide," Dad urged. Mom nodded immediately.

"Dad, Mom. C'mon."

"Jimmy, it's all right." Slowly, Mrs. Infante turned and headed for the door. She picked up her umbrella, then looked over her shoulder. "I am sorry, Ellen, Douglas. I hope one day you can forgive me, and we can be friends again."

Jaw stiffened, Mrs. Infante opened the door and went out into the driving rain.

O'Bannon stood near the doorway, watching her go, a cool breeze with the smell of rain washing over him. Frustration mounted inside him. He reached out, gripped the door, and slammed it close.

"Dammit, Mom! Dad! Did you have to be like that to her?"

"Maybe when you have children one day, you'll understand how we feel." Mom started to turn toward the kitchen.

"So this is how it's gonna be? You're gonna be pissed off at Mrs. Infante and her family for the rest of your lives."

"They betrayed our trust, Jimmy." Mom spun around to face him. "They put you in danger."

"They also saved your lives. They evacuated you guys to Canada when the Death Eaters took out the Department of Magic. They set up the wards around this place when Voldemort's return was made public."

"And we're grateful for that," Dad said. "But even that doesn't excuse Adelaide for what she and her family did."

O'Bannon huffed. "Please don't do this. Please don't hate her forever. Please just forgive her."

"It's not that easy, Jimmy."

"Yeah, I know, Mom. I know how hard it is to forgive someone you feel did you wrong. I know because I experienced it myself the whole damn summer. I know what it's like to have your friends determined to hate you. I know what it's like to have your friends not want to forgive you. It happened with Angelina Johnson. She felt I betrayed Fred's memory by leaving the Wizarding World and trying to forget him, then she turned around and betrayed me by telling Rita Skeeter a bunch of lies about me for her stupid article. Now there's probably no chance we'll ever be friends. And you know what? It sucks! Ang was a good friend. We had a lot of great times together at Hogwarts. She helped me when I needed it the most when we had to escape from Hogwarts. That's the sort of thing that should make you friends for life. Well not now. I lost one friend because we couldn't forgive one another, and I don't want to see that happen with you guys and Mrs. Infante."

Mom bit down on her lower lip and exhaled slowly. The corners of Dad's mouth curled, a contemplative look forming on his face.

Mom faced O'Bannon, unsmiling. "I don't know, Jimmy. How do you forgive something like that?"

"George forgave me. So did the rest of his family. There were a lot of people, me included, who thought that would never happen. If the Weasleys can forgive me, you guys can forgive Mrs. Infante . . . if you care to make the effort."

Mom's eyes widened as O'Bannon spun on his heel and headed up the stairs.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	34. Dramatic Reading

**CHAPTER 34: DRAMATIC READING**

* * *

_A letter. A stinking letter._

Rosa grunted and shook her head. She took a breath and tried to focus on the parchment lying on her desk at the Headquarters for Auror Operations: New England Region. She had work to do. She needed to concentrate on that, not on a letter from George Weasley that had been sitting on the desk of her apartment for nearly a week . . . unread.

After another deep breath, she picked up one of the pieces of parchment connected to the case she was working. Nemo Lehner, 29, Waynesboro, Virginia. Known Death Eater. An eyewitness placed him in a small town on Nantucket Island yesterday.

_The war's been over for two years and we're still chasing these bastards down._

Rosa read the parchment in her hand, a summary of Lehner from his former Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Fantimoor.

_I considered Mr. Lehner a bright student, though rather unmotivated and easily distracted. On many occasions, I had to scold him in class for not paying attention. _

_Mr. Lehner pursued quite a bit of independent study outside of class. I encountered him numerous times in the school library, alone, with stacks of books around him. The subjects he seemed most interested in were Legilimency and Divination. Though when I tried to engage him in conversation about it, he seemed annoyed at being interrupted. Of course, Mr. Lehner did not go out of his way to make friends at Fantimoor. If he wasn't in the library, he stayed in his room and, according to some of his classmates, conducted experiments . . ._

Rosa stopped reading after that. Conducting experiments in his room.

That's what George did.

_George. The letter._

She growled and slammed the parchment down on her desk, nearly toppling over the ink bottle on the corner.

_Just read the damn thing and be done with it._

_Why should I? He broke my heart, and the best he can do is a letter? _Why not a Floo call? Or better yet, he could port key his ass to Massachusetts and explain himself in person. He owed her that much.

_He was dealing with his brother's death. His twin brother._

Her shoulders slumped. Every time she wanted to completely give into hating him, that thought always surfaced. Then she'd remember what she and Jared had been like dealing with Aunt Liana's death. Both of them had acted in ways they wouldn't have normally. The same had been true of George that day at the Department of Magic when he had yelled at her and tore her heart to pieces.

Rosa clenched her jaw, remembering how she'd curled up into a ball in the hallway and wept, how embarrassed she felt.

How much she hated George at that moment.

_His brother died._

She leaned back in her chair, absent-mindedly playing with a strand of her hair.

_Read the letter. _You owe it to him.

**XXXXX**

It wasn't until eight o'clock that night when Rosa got home. She couldn't count the number of witches and wizards she'd spoken to on Nantucket Island, showing them Lehner's picture, asking if they had seen him. The majority answered with a shake of the head and a, "No. Sorry." Two others thought they may have seen him, and one told her he definitely saw him that morning walking along the beach.

Unfortunately, hours of investigation had turned up no sign of Nemo Lehner.

_I'll get him, _she thought as she removed her clothes and headed for the shower. He couldn't avoid arrest forever. Most of his associates were either dead or in prison. She doubted many people out there would do anything to knowingly help a Death Eater. There still existed some anxiety in the Wizarding World that one of the Death Eaters who remained at large would try to unite their surviving buddies and proclaim him or herself the new dark lord. That hadn't happened so far, and she doubted Lehner would be the man to do it. Leaders needed a strong, outgoing, magnetic personality. Lehner didn't have that. By all indications, the man was a loner. Loners don't become leaders. So she didn't worry about Lehner becoming the next Lord Voldemort. Still, the man was a Death Eater. And one Death Eater could cause a lot of trouble.

_I'll get him._

She dried herself off, put on a bathrobe and slipped into her pink bunny slippers. She grinned as she looked down at them, remembering how Jared and Jimmy used to make fun of her for wearing them when they were at Salem.

_I wonder what George would have said about them._

She bit her lip. After letting out a long sigh, she slowly walked into her bedroom and stared at the desk in the corner. Her focus narrowed to the middle of the desk, where the envelope laid. The envelope from George.

Rosa's heartbeat picked up. She had promised herself earlier today that she would finally read it. Then again, she'd made that promise before over the past week. Sometimes anger prevented her from doing it. Other times, the reasons were varied.

_What if George still thinks I just wanted to sleep with him to make him forget about Fred?_

_What if he apologizes? Do I forgive him?_

_What if . . . what if he says he loves me? What do I do then?_

She drew a slow, steady breath. _C'mon, girl. You've fought giants and altered Chupacabra. You can read a letter._

Rosa's face stiffened in determination. Shoulders set, she marched over to her desk and picked up the envelope. She stared at it for a few seconds, then slipped her index finger under the wax seal, broke it, and pulled out the letter. Nervous ripples went through her stomach as she unfolded the parchment.

_Dear Rosa,_

_I guess if you're reading these words, it means you haven't torched this letter before you even opened it, not that I would blame you if you did._

A small grin flashed across Rosa's face. Trust George to start off a serious letter with a joke.

She read on.

_First off, I want to say that I'm sorry for yelling at you like I did that day at the Department of Magic. I am more sorry than you could ever imagine. If I could steal a time turner and go back to that moment and stop myself from doing that, I would. I know now that you were just trying to comfort me, and I took it the wrong way. I want to say that I wasn't in my right mind when I did that. I still could not accept that Fred was no longer around. Some days I still can't accept it, and it's been over two years. But that is no excuse for the way I behaved toward you. And I know Fred would not want me to use his death as an excuse for yelling at you and making you cry. Fred liked you a lot._

Rosa smiled again. Fred was not only funny, but very sweet, and had been very supportive of her brief relationship with George.

She read on.

_I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me, if not now, then at some point in the future. I know we didn't spend all that much time together, but I'll always cherish the time we did have. You are an amazing woman, Rosa. I doubt there was any way for me not to fall in love with you. Yes, you read right. I did fall in love with you, and maybe I should have said it long before now._

A lump formed in her throat. Her hands trembled slightly. _He did love me. _She had always suspected it. But now to have it confirmed in this letter . . .

Her muscles clenched. _What does it mean now?_

She took a breath and continued reading.

_Ever since I patched things up with Jimmy, I started thinking about you, a lot. At times, I considered getting a port key and coming to America to try and rekindle what we once had. But after what happened at the Department of Magic, and how much time has passed since, I fear it might be too late for that. But there's also another reason I hesitated in doing that._

_Coming from a big family like mine, and having Fred as a constant companion since birth, it's been hard for me to accept that, in a way, I am alone. After the war, Katie Bell dropped in from time to time to check on me. Most times I wasn't in the best of shape. She did what she could to help me. During that time we got rather close. But I was afraid to take that big step. My fear was, I would use Katie to fill the void left by Fred. I decided that wouldn't be fair to her. And I feel I'm still at a point where if I dated any woman, it would be for that reason. And that would not be fair to you. I hope you understand my reasons, and I hope it doesn't make you hate me more than you probably do already._

_All I can do is beg for your forgiveness, and hope that one day we can at least be friends._

_Take care, Rosa._

_Love,_

_George Weasley_

Rosa sniffled, tears welling up in her eyes. She felt a good cry coming on. The funny thing was, she had no idea how she should feel. Angry? Flattered? Regretful? She felt all three swirling around her, and couldn't decide which one to settle on.

_He hurt me._

_He said he was sorry._

_He loved me._

_Why can't he say all this to my face?_

That's when the anger pushed its way to the forefront. Rosa began to embrace it.

Then she pulled back.

Images from the past year played in her mind. Jared in a coma from Daydream Charm addiction. Uncle Irving depressed and suicidal. Esteban and Oriana separated. Jared despising her mother and father, and she herself coming close to feeling the same way.

Anger and bitterness had nearly destroyed her family, a family that had been so close. Did she have it in her to hate another person she'd been close with?

Rosa closed her teary eyes and tilted her head back. She recalled the first time she met George in the Room of Requirement. The way he smiled at her, his sense of humor, the admiring gazes he gave her. Then months later when they worked together to stop the altered Chupacabra. Her body tingled as she remembered their first kiss. Her heart thumped when she recalled the way it felt when George wrapped his arms around her.

She thought about the night they made love.

She thought about the night he comforted her after the Diggorys had been mauled to death by the Chupacabra.

Rosa picked up her wand, conjured a tissue, and wiped her eyes. She took a couple staggered breaths and walked over to her desk. Settling into her chair, she grabbed a piece of parchment and dipped her quill into the ink bottle.

_Dear George . . ._

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	35. Three Little Words

**CHAPTER 35: THREE LITTLE WORDS**

**

* * *

**_Looks like Christmas came early for me._

Jared Diaz smiled wide as he held the poster in front of him. It had a life-like image of an angular-faced man in a fedora and another man with a gray beard and glasses. Beneath them orange and yellow words spelled out _Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade._

_Now that's the mark of a best friend. He gets you something cool when it's not even your birthday or Christmas._ He sat on the couch in his tent's living room, his focus entirely on his new Indiana Jones poster. For a split second his smile turned into a frown when he thought of his poster for _Raiders of the Lost Ark_, still up on the wall of his office back at the Magical Museum of North America. He'd been in such a hurry to return to Thailand – well, more like to return to Tasanee – he forgot to bring it with him.

_Stupid. _He loved that poster. At least now, thanks to Jimmy O'Bannon, he had another cool poster to take its place here in Thailand.

Jared finally managed to tear his eyes away from the poster and look down at the care package from Jimmy and Mireet that arrived by owl just a few minutes ago. He picked up an article from a Muggle newspaper called _The Nottingham Post_. It had to be a Muggle one since the photograph didn't move. The image was of a hockey player in a gold and black jersey taking a slapshot at the net. The headline under the photo made Jared's eyes widen.

**O'BANNON'S HAT TRICK PROPELS PANTHERS TO 5-2 TRIUMPH OVER COVENTRY.**

"Way to go, man." He read the article, happy to see his friend doing well in his second season of pro hockey.

After finishing the article, he removed the last three items from the care package; a bag of Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans, a box of cauldron cakes, and a magical photo of Jimmy and Mireet, both wearing Nottingham Panthers jerseys, their arms around each other's waists. Jared chuckled as he watched Jimmy lean over and give the French witch a peck on the cheek, making her giggle.

He nodded in satisfaction, remembering all those years Jimmy spent pining over Mireet. All the times he caught him staring at the photo of the two of them at the Yule Ball, how his eyes lingered on her whenever they were around one another. He couldn't count the number of times he wanted to yell at Jimmy, "Will you just go get her, man."

He finally did, and he was better for it.

_He's not the only one that happened to._ Jared looked up at one of the framed photos on the living room wall. His breathing staggered as he fixed his eyes on the image of him and Tasanee, his arm around her as she smiled. He leaned back and continued staring at the photo, all the while wondering . . .

_Is it time?_

He sighed, the smile vanishing from his lips. He'd been back in Thailand nearly four months, and he still hadn't said it. He felt it, that's for sure. When he was around Tasanee, everything was great. More than great. Everything was perfect.

_Then why can't I tell her?_

It had been the same with Michelle Bunker, his old girlfriend back at Salem. Actually, that wasn't entirely true. Jared knew his reasons for never telling Michelle he loved her stemmed more from selfishness than anything else, afraid saying something so . . . committal, would prevent him from traveling the world like he wanted.

His reasons for being unable to tell Tasanee those three little words had nothing to do with selfishness. It had to do with fear.

He'd seen it before at the Salem Witches Institute. Some guy would fall head over heels for some witch, blurt out that he loves her, and the witch would freak.

"I don't want to rush into this," "I don't know if I feel that way about you," were just some of the excuses he'd heard. What if Tasanee felt that way, too?

_But we've been together from, like, the moment I came back._ Even before that, Tasanee saved his life when he overindulged on the Daydream Charm, she had visited in the hospital every day, she had even waited for him to return to Thailand so they could be together. If that wasn't love, what was?

Still, the fear remained. What if it was too soon to say it? What if he said it and Tasanee freaked? He did not want to mess things up with her the way he had with Michelle.

Then he thought about the reason Michelle dumped him. If he kept hesitating to tell Tasanee he loved her, would she dump him the way Michelle did?

Jared grunted and plucked a green-colored bean from the Bertie Botts box. Instead of eating it, he rolled it between his thumb and index finger, scowling the entire time.

_Why can't this stuff be easy?_ Why couldn't someone come up with a book on relationships that told you after (insert proper number) of months have passed, it was acceptable to tell the witch you love her? Or why couldn't a witch give a wizard some sort of signal to say it's all right to say you love her?

But no. The guy has to stumble blindly through the insanity that was a relationship.

He popped the jelly bean into his mouth – celery-flavored – plucked out another one, and rolled it between his fingers. He grunted and shook his head as he thought of Rosa. She'd been his constant companion, his closest friend, since they'd been babies. One would think after being around her for nearly twenty-two years, he should be an expert on women. Then again, even his cousin could be a complete mystery to him. For instance, why would she write a letter to George Weasley saying that she was fine being just friends with him? Back in England those two could barely keep their hands off one another.

Jared slowly chewed on his bean – marshmallow-flavored, much better – and started thinking. Maybe he should go to someone for advice. But who? Rosa. No way. She'd probably accuse him of being an idiot and once again threaten to hex him if he screwed things up with Tasanee. Maybe Jimmy or Artimus? Neither of them feared telling their girlfriends how much they loved them. But he dismissed them as well. Art and Jenna, well hell, they were made for one another. Artimus would simply tell him to tell Tasanee he loved her. So would Jimmy. But Jimmy had always been much more willing to take risks like that than him.

Jared reached for another bean when a voice called from the tent flap. "Jared? Are you there?"

His chest tightened. His heart pounded furiously. For a few seconds, his vocal cords were paralyzed. Finally, he forced words through his tightened throat.

"Um . . . yeah. Come in."

Tasanee entered the tent, a smile brightening her beautiful face. Jared shot to his feet, taking a breath in a futile attempt to settle his beating heart. "Um . . . morning."

"Good morning." She walked over to him, placed her hands on his shoulders, and kissed him. She just pulled away when Jared leaned forward and gave her a second, longer kiss. After, she wrapped her arms around him and pressed the side of her head against his chest.

"Jared, your heart is racing. Is something wrong?"

"Uhhh . . . no, nothing's wrong. I mean, how else am I gonna react when I'm kissing a hot Thai witch?"

Tasanee softly giggled. "You're sweet."

Jared swallowed. _Tell her, man._

Again, fear prevented him from doing so.

"So are you ready for breakfast?" Tasanee asked as they released one another.

"Yeah, sure. Let me just put all this in my bedroom." He walked over to the care package items lying on the couch.

"What's all this?"

"Oh, some stuff Jimmy and Mireet sent me from England. Check this out." He held up the poster for _Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, _beaming as he did.

"How come the images are not moving?" Tasanee asked.

"'Cause it's a Muggle poster."

"Oh. Is there some reason you are excited by this?"

"Hell yeah." He tapped the title with his finger.

"_Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade?"_ Tasanee read it. "Indiana Jones? Is that the Muggle person you always talk about?"

"Yeah. This is the poster from the last Indiana Jones movie they made. Jimmy got it for me. Good thing too since my other poster's back in America. C'mon, I wanna go hang up."

He led Tasanee into the bedroom, where he used a Sticking Charm to attach the poster to the wall opposite his bed. Jared then stood back, arms on his hips, beaming at the poster.

"So what do you think?" He turned to Tasanee.

She shrugged. "I guess it looks nice. But . . ." She chewed on her lip.

"But what?"

Tasanee held her breath for a moment before she continued. "Um . . . from what you told me of Muggle movies, they are made up, like fairy tales."

"Yeah."

"So I'm curious why you would be so excited by a Muggle who does not really exist."

Jared stared at her, mouth agape. "What? Well, okay, Indiana Jones doesn't really exist, but . . . he's still cool. And the stuff he does in the movies is awesome."

"But he does it without magic."

"That's what makes it so cool. He's gotta use guts and daring to get out of all these jams, like climbing all over trucks and _tinks_ while he's fighting Nazis. Oh! And then in _Temple of Doom, _he was on this rickety bridge and the bad guys surrounded him, so he went . . ." Jared raised his hands over his head, as though pretending he clutched a sword. "'Prepare to meet Kali . . . in Hell!' Then _whack!_" He brought his hands down. "He cut the ropes to the bridge and all the bad guys fell into the river below."

"That's insane." Tasanee looked stunned. "How did he not fall without magic?"

"Oh, Indiana Jones tied himself to one of the ropes on the bridge, and then the half of the bridge was hanging down the side of the cliff, and he climbed up it and fought the main bad guy and dropped him into the river, right into this bunch of crocodiles. It was so cool."

Tasanee cranked a thin eyebrow. "Muggles make . . . interesting movies."

"Interesting hell. Indiana Jones movies are the most awesome movies ever. Of course, some of those James Bond movies Jimmy showed me are a close second, especially since James Bond gets to . . ." He stopped himself from saying "sleep with lots of hot women," doubting Tasanee would look kindly on any thoughts he might have about the Russian chick from _The Spy Who Loved Me_ and the blond hottie who got painted gold in _Goldfinger._ "Um, gets to do lots of cool stuff."

Tasanee chuckled. "I know you talked about Muggle movies before. I had no idea you were this . . . enthused by them."

"Oh heck yeah. When me and Rosa would stay at Jimmy's, and Artimus too, whenever his dad wasn't being a jackass and let him come over, we'd watch all sorts of movies and stuff. Indiana Jones, _Star Wars, Monty Python, Star Blazers._ You wouldn't believe how great Muggles are at making those movies. Well, I guess they make some bad ones, too, because I remember Jimmy going on about how awful these ones called _Anaconda _and _Buckaroo Banzai _were. But Indiana Jones . . ." A smile spread across his face. "You know, those movies were kinda why I wanted to be a magical field researcher."

"You are serious?"

"Oh yeah. I mean, Indiana Jones would go all over the world looking for stuff like the Arc of the Covenant and the Holy Grail and have all these cool adventures and fight bad guys and get out of all these traps. And he did it all without magic. So I figured how much cooler would it be to be an _ark-log-ist_ when you can do magic." He looked back at the poster, still grinning. "You know, when I graduated from Salem, I bought myself a brown leather jacket and a hat and a whip, just like Indiana Jones. Well, Jimmy told me the hat was a cowboy hat, not a fedora like Indiana Jones had. But I figured close enough, you know. And I charmed the whip to do what I wanted it to." He chuckled to himself. "Would you believe I actually used it when we fought those altered Chupacabra in England?"

"You used a Muggle weapon to fight magical creatures?"

"Yup."

"Did it work?" Tasanee asked.

Jared winced. "Um, not exactly. I wrapped it around this one Chupacabra, thought, yeah, I got him. Then next thing you know, the ugly SOB grabbed my whip and flung me into the wall. Man, Rosa was pissed at me after that. She yelled at me, saying I was stupid and I could have broken my neck and died."

"She had every right to be angry at you. And if you did break your neck and died, I never would have met you."

"You're right." He hugged and kissed her.

_Tell her. Stop being a wuss and tell her._

Before he could decide whether or not he should utter those three little words, Tasanee said, "So is being a field researcher as exciting as you thought it would be?"

The corners of Jared's mouth curled. "Um, well . . . maybe not entirely. I mean, my first expedition in Mexico was really fun. But after that, there was the war, and my . . . my mother got killed, and . . . well, you know what I was like then. It was hard to think of this job as exciting."

"And now?"

Jared's lips tightened. He let go of Tasanee and shuffled over to the other side of the room.

"Jared?" She took a step toward him.

He sighed and turned to face her. "Look, Tasanee. I . . . I like being here with you. You're the best part of this whole expedition."

She beamed at him and placed a hand over her heart. "Jared. Thank you."

He grinned at her. "But the work . . . I mean, four months here and I'm still doing the sort of things I could do at my desk back at the museum. And I hate working at a desk. So that part . . . well, that part isn't all that fun."

Tasanee frowned and cast her gaze to the floor. Worry slithered through Jared. Did Tasanee think he might quit and leave Thailand? Leave her?

_No way. Never._

"I am sure your assignment here will not last forever." She looked back up at him. "I am sure there will be other expeditions that will be more exciting for you."

"I hope so." His gaze switched from Tasanee to the movie poster. "Heh. You know, when I was in Mexico, and I was wearing my Indiana Jones outfit . . . aw, you're gonna think this is stupid."

"I will not." She crossed the room and took hold of his hand. "Please tell me."

He groaned, hesitating. When Tasanee smiled, it gave him the courage to continue. "Well, when I was in my Indiana Jones outfit, even when I was doing the most boring stuff, I . . . I kinda pretended like I was Indiana Jones. Like any minute something exciting would happen or I'd make some really huge discovery. Heh! I even had the Indiana Jones theme song going through my head. Sounds stupid, huh?"

"I think it's cute." Tasanee squeezed his hand.

"Thanks."

"So where is your Indiana Jones clothing?"

Jared frowned. "It was in my apartment when me and my friends had to take the children to the Appalachians. The apartment the Death Eaters burned down later."

"Jared, I'm so sorry."

He shrugged. "That's okay. It's just stuff. Besides, I know now field research isn't like it is in the Indiana Jones movies. There aren't any Nazis or Death Eaters chasing me and trying to kill me. I don't have to dodge boulders or statues that spit poison darts. For me it's sitting at a table and reading thousand-year-old scrolls. Fun, huh?"

Tasanee gave him a sympathetic smile. "I wish there was something I could do."

"Don't worry about it. Like I said, I'm here with you. That's the main thing."

"Jared." Her smile grew as he leaned in to kiss her.

"Come on," he said. "Let's go get some breakfast."

Hand-in-hand, they walked out of the bedroom. Jared cast one last, longing look over his shoulder at the poster. He sighed as he took in Indiana Jones' heroic profile, wishing field research was as exciting as those movies made it out to be. Wishing he had his leather jacket and cowboy hat and whip. He really did miss all those things.

Out the corner of his eye, he caught Tasanee looking at him.

**XXXXX**

October gave way to November, which meant in this part of Thailand the monsoon gave way to cool, dry air. While the weather had improved, Jared's work situation didn't. His boss, Prajak, still had him translating scrolls that contained the most uninteresting information about life in this Khmer wizarding village a thousand years ago. It was one of those scrolls that Jared complained about to Tasanee this particular afternoon in the dining tent.

". . . So it turns out this thing was a village-wide edict. And I thought, this could be cool. Maybe it was because of some big emergency or something. But you know what it was? A warning that anyone caught transfiguring people's hair into chicken feathers would be punished by five strikes to the back with a bamboo rod. Wow. That gives us some great insight on life in this village back then." He frowned before scooping a forkful of rice and barbecue pork into his mouth.

"Actually, I think it does," said Tasanee, who sat next to him. "It tells us that even back then people were prone to practical jokes, and that the leaders of this village were willing to use rather harsh means to punish the most minor of crimes. It shows how serious they were about maintaining order in the village."

Jared just stared at her as she took another bite of her cucumber salad. When she finished chewing and swallowing she turned to him, noting his curious stare.

"What is it?"

He grinned and shook his head. "You. You have a talent for putting a positive spin on things, don't you?" He placed a hand on Tasanee's back and gave her a gentle rub. In the space of a second, she smiled, then stiffened and winced. The veins in Jared's neck stuck out.

"Sorry." He removed his hand from Tasanee's back. Sometimes he forgot how sensitive Thais were to public displays of affection.

"That's all right." She gave him a sympathetic smile.

Jared took another bite of his lunch before speaking again. "So, just another major discovery for yours truly."

A slight frown crossed Tasanee's lips. "If you are unhappy with what you are doing, maybe you should talk to Mister Prajak about it."

"Heh! I would, except for one important fact. The guy doesn't like me very much."

"That may be true. But your work ethic has changed dramatically since you returned." Tasanee leaned closer to him and lowered her voice. "Even someone as . . . stubborn as Mister Prajak must realize that. He should reward you for your hard work."

"Yeah, he should. And I should also be rewarded for my service in the war with a lifetime supply of Norace Nickerbaker's Never-Melt Ice Cream. Somehow I doubt either of those things are gonna happen."

Tasanee tilted her head. Her lips tightened and her brow furrowed.

_Uh-oh. _He'd become familiar with that look over the past four months. It was the look Tasanee gave him when she didn't approve of one of his smart-ass remarks.

After a disapproving sigh, she said, "You will never know if you can convince Mister Prajak to give you more responsibilities unless you -"

Tasanee was cut off by a large gold and brown Eurasian Eagle Owl that swooped into the tent. Jared looked up just as it dropped an envelope into Tasanee's hand, wheeled around, and flew out. His eyes lit up in recognition. It was Yaz, Jimmy's new owl that he named after some former player from the Boston Red Sox with a ridiculously long name. Yaz . . . Yaz-term-ecky, Yaz-er-shemp-kee.

_Merlin's sake, Jimmy. Why couldn't you name it after Bobby Orr or Tom Brady? Someone with an easy name?_

He looked back at Tasanee, who just stared at the envelope.

"Um, Tasanee?"

She turned to him. "Yes?"

"Uh, you wanna give me the envelope?"

She bit her lower lip. "Um . . . actually, Jared, it's addressed to me, not you."

His face scrunched in puzzlement. "Why would Jimmy send you a letter and not me?"

"It's . . . well, I'm working with him and Mireet on . . . something. For you."

"Oh." He straightened up, and leaned closer to her. "Like what? Something good I hope."

"Um . . . yes. It is something very good."

Jared's body tensed in anticipation. "So, what is it?"

"Jared, please. I want this to be a surprise."

"Oh. Okay. I understand." He looked back to his lunch, then whipped his head around. "So can I get a hint?"

"No."

"C'mon, just a little hint. Even a vague hint, like is it bigger than a breadbox but smaller than a kraken?"

"Jared, I am not telling you anything about this."

"What if I said please?"

"No."

He worked his jaw back and forth. "What if I said pretty please with a cherry on top?"

Tasanee let out an exasperated sigh. "That is the problem with Americans like you. You have no patience." She tacked on a smile after that.

"Guilty as charged." He raised a hand and grinned. "So is there anything you can tell me about what you guys are working on?"

"Of course I _can_ tell you, but I will not."

"You're evil."

"And you will have to wait to find out." Tasanee stuffed the envelope into her robes and returned to eating her cucumber salad.

Jared narrowed his eyes at her and said in a faux ominous voice, "I have ways of making you talk, you know."

Tasanee raised an eyebrow, looking like she didn't take his playful threat seriously. "Go ahead and try."

**XXXXX**

Jared did try. Over the next two weeks he tried everything he could think of. A romantic dinner, a massage, nibbling on her neck, which always drove her crazy, even a tickle fight.

But Tasanee wouldn't crack.

_This girl could be the world's greatest Secret Keeper, without having to cast the spell for it._

Eventually he gave up trying to get the information from his girlfriend and resigned himself – begrudgingly - to the fact he would have to wait for whatever surprise Tasanee, Jimmy and Mireet were cooking up for him.

_They better not take too long with it._

In the meantime, Jared did meet with Prajak to see about taking on bigger responsibilities for the expedition, pointing out his work on the scrolls over the past few months.

"Your work has improved, some," he replied. "I will think about your request."

Jared had hoped for a more enthusiastic answer, but considering the piss-poor relationship he had with his boss, it was probably the best he could have hoped for.

Before he knew it, the calendar was close to changing from November to December. Prajak still had him translating scrolls. Even worse, he still had no idea what Tasanee's surprise could be. And with Christmas a few weeks away, he feared they may wait until then to spring it, meaning another month of waiting.

_My friggin' head's gonna explode if I have to wait much longer._

On the morning of December 2nd, Jared and Tasanee entered the dining tent for breakfast. Before they could sit down, an owl carrying a huge package flew into the tent. A Eurasian Eagle Owl. Jimmy's owl. It dropped the package into Tasanee's hands and flew off.

"Is that it!" he blurted so loud nearly every head in the tent turned toward him.

A smile grew on Tasanee's face. "Yes, I think it is."

"All right, let's open it." He reached for it.

"Jared." She yanked the package away from him. "Not now."

"Aw, c'mon, hon. You're not gonna make me wait until Christmas, are you?"

"No. I meant let's go to your tent and open it."

Jared flew through the tent flap, an anxious bounce in his step. Tasanee could barely keep up with him.

When they were finally inside the tent, he practically snatched the package from Tasanee's hands. "Gimmie, gimmie, gimmie!"

Tasanee grunted and shook her head. "You are worse than a child on his birthday."

"Uh-huh." He glanced up at her as he ripped into the package.

_What is it? What is it? What is . . ._

He froze when he eyed the contents. Seconds later, his jaw dropped, his gaze still fixed on the three items before him.

"Merlin's beard," Jared said in a hushed voice. "I don't believe it."

Slowly, he picked up the brown leather jacket with one hand, and the fedora with the other. His eyes flickered between the two, then fell to the third item.

A whip.

"It is charmed," Tasanee said. "Jimmy wrote me that he did it himself, and, in his words, did a better job of it than you did."

He looked up at his girlfriend. His mouth moved up and down soundlessly for a few seconds. "You . . . this is what you guys were doing?"

Tasanee nodded. "You told me how much you liked dressing up like that Indiana Jones character, and I could tell you missed it. So I wrote to Jimmy. Since he is a Muggle-born, I thought he would have a better chance of finding these things for you."

Jared's chest tightened. "You did this? For me?"

"Of course. I thought it would make you happy."

"It . . . it does."

Tasanee took a couple slow breaths. "So . . . do you want to put them on?"

"Um, oh. Yeah, yeah." He slipped on the leather jacket and the fedora. He tilted the hat and ran his thumb and index finger along the edge, the way he'd seen Indiana Jones do a few times.

Something flowed through him. Some hitherto energy, one that took him back to his first expedition in Mexico, when every day for him held the chance for a new discovery, for some sort of excitement.

_Maybe . . . maybe things can be like that again._

"So do you like it?" Tasanee asked.

"Like it? Are you kidding? I love it. I can't believe you did this for me. I . . . I love you."

Tasanee's mouth slowly fell open. Surprise flared on her face.

Fear spread through Jared. _Merlin's beard. Did I scare her when I said that? Is she gonna freak out? Oh please, no, no . . ._

"Jared, I . . ." She put a hand over her heart. Jared swore her eyes started to glisten. "I love you, too. I've been waiting . . . I'm so glad to hear you say that."

"Actually, I've felt this way for a long time, I just . . . I should have told you. After everything you've done for me, after the way you put up with me when I was addicted to the Daydream Charm . . . hell, how could I not love you?"

"Jared . . ." Tasanee's voice cracked. He couldn't tell if she was about to say something else or if she was going to cry.

_Maybe you should say something. _He couldn't think of anything, though. At least, anything meaningful. He said he loved her. What else could he say?

He then glanced down at the charmed whip. _I may not know what to say, but I know what I can do._

Jared picked up the whip and unfurled it.

"Jared?" A quizzical look came over Tasanee's face. "What are you -"

She yelped when Jared snapped the whip toward her. It wrapped around her slender waist.

"Jared? What are you doing?"

He started pulling her toward him. "This is how _Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom _ended. Indiana Jones used his whip to snag the woman he was in love with and . . ."

Jared stopped pulling on the whip when Tasanee stood inches from him.

"And?" She looked up at him with a smile.

"And do this."

He let go of the whip, wrapped his arms around Tasanee, and kissed her deeply.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_

_**

* * *

**_

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **_The player Jared was referring to was in reality Carl Yastrzemski, aka Yaz, Boston Red Sox outfielder/first baseman from 1961-1983. Inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame in 1989_


	36. Sabotage

**CHAPTER 36: SABOTAGE **

**

* * *

**_Three more weeks, and I'm going to be married._

Artimus Rand stared at his right hand, which clutched a goblet of water sitting on the table at the Golden Wand Tavern in Haypippil Square. His stomach clenched, making him wonder if he'd be able to eat lunch today. It wouldn't be the first meal he'd only half-eaten, or missed, over the past couple of weeks. The closer his wedding day got, the more nervous he became.

_Why am I so nervous?_ He loved Jenna, and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. He should be excited about getting married.

_We already live together, so it's not like much would change._

But it would. Marriage was . . . well, marriage. It was a permanent thing.

_Unless we're talking about my father._

Marriage meant starting a family. He wanted that. He wanted to have children with Jenna.

That's when the fear crept into his mind. What sort of father would he make? It wasn't like his own father was any sort of role model. He then thought of Rosa's father, and Jared's father, and Jimmy's father. They all had good relationships with their children.

_Not always, though_. Artimus thought about how the war nearly destroyed those bonds, and all the work it took to repair them. What if something like that happened between him and his children, and he couldn't fix it? What if Jenna thought him a terrible husband and left him?

_No. I'm going to do right by her. I'm going to be the best husband and father I can be._

_Merlin, I hope I can keep that promise._

"Yo, Artimus!"

The familiar voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up. His anxiety was quickly forgotten, and a huge smile spread across his face.

Jared strode toward the table, waving with one hand, while holding Tasanee's hand with the other.

"Hi, Jared." Artimus got to his feet. "Welcome back."

"Thanks, man." Jared let go of Tasanee's hand and hugged him in what both Jared and Jimmy referred to as a "man hug," meaning there was more back-slapping than actual embracing.

After greeting Tasanee, the three sat down.

"Sorry it took us so long to see you, man," Jared said. It had been three days since he and Tasanee port keyed in from Thailand. "But it took a while to get settled back in, my Dad and Aunt Adelaide and Uncle Cesario wanted to see us, and I wanted to give Tasanee a whirlwind tour of the US, or at least parts of it in Washington and Massachusetts."

"That's all right. I understand. Say, have you seen Esteban yet?"  
"Oh yeah. We were over his place last night." Jared smiled. "I'm tellin' you, him and Oriana look like they're back to normal. All thanks to you for finding that Muggle marriage counselor."

Artimus shrugged and gave him an embarrassed half-grin. "I'm just glad I could help somehow." He felt some of his earlier nervousness vanish. If Esteban and Oriana's marriage could survive all the turmoil of the past two years, then surely he could deal with any challenges that might arise between him and Jenna.

"So where's the blushing bride?" asked Jared as a waitress came by to give them menus. "Or I guess I should say the soon-to-be blushing bride."

Artimus softly chuckled. "She has finals coming up at her college, so she's putting in extra time at the library."

"Ah, that brings back memories of Salem, doesn't it?"

"Excuse me?" Tasanee furrowed her brow and turned to Jared. "From the things you have told me of your time at Salem, it sounded as though you did not spend any time in the library."

"I spent time in the library." Jared stared back at her in mock offense. "Okay, I was sleeping more than studying, but I was there."

Tasanee laughed. So did Artimus. A surge of joy went through him as he stared across the table at his old friend. He found it hard to believe that over a year ago Jared had been despondent to the point he overindulged on a Daydream Charm, putting him into a coma. Now . . . now it was like the Jared he remembered at Salem had finally returned. There had been many times when he thought the war, Mrs. Diaz's death, and Mr. Diaz's bout with depression had buried the old Jared forever.

"Hey." Jared looked over his shoulder toward the entrance to the crowded restaurant. "Shouldn't Rosa be here?"

"Yeah, I'd think so." Artimus checked his watch. Just a couple minutes past noon. "Maybe she had something to take care of at work."

Jared frowned. "Aw, what's more important? Spending time with your friends or chasing down dark wizards?"

Artimus couldn't help but smile. The old Jared was most definitely back.

"So your wedding is coming up soon," Tasanee said. "Are you excited?"

He tensed, biting his lower lip. He drew a slow breath through his nose. "Um . . . yeah. Yeah, sure."

Jared scrunched his face as he looked at him. "You don't sound excited. What's up?"

Artimus' shoulders slumped. "I . . . I'm just nervous. It's just . . . I'm marrying Jenna, and . . ." He groaned and stared up at the ceiling. "I don't know. I'm just worried about everything. It's stupid."

"I don't think so," said Tasanee. "I remember when one of my uncles was married. He was so nervous he almost collapsed when the ceremony started."

"Yeah," Jared chimed in. "And just before Esteban got married, man I'm tellin' you, the guy was a basket case. Then again, so was my mom, and Aunt Adelaide. I think even my dad was close to freakin' out a couple of times."

Artimus groaned again, his gaze falling to the floor.

"C'mon, man. All we're saying is it's normal to be nervous when you're about to get married. And Jenna's an awesome woman."

"I agree." Tasanee nodded. "I did not get to spend much time with her when she came to Thailand, but I thought she was very nice, and she seemed to care about you a lot. I think you are very lucky to have her in your life."

A smile crossed Artimus' lips. "I know. You're right. I really do want to marry her. But then I start thinking about all the stuff that comes with getting married, like raising a family. And even the wedding itself. You wouldn't believe all the details that go into it. Hiring a photographer, making sure there's enough tables and chairs and food, making sure the tablecloths and the napkins match, then there's the cake and her gown and my dress robes and seating arrangements and . . . and who to invite."

"I woulda thought that last one would be the easiest. You invite your family and your friends. I mean, good friends like me and Tasanee, not the kid who sat next to you in Muggle Studies your Second Year."

"Well, there was . . ." Artimus shifted in his chair. "There was someone I debated sending an invitation to. I probably shouldn't have after everything that happened between us. But . . ."

Jared tilted his head, a perplexed look on his face.

"Who are you talking about?" Tasanee shot him a curious look.

Artimus slowly worked his jaw back and forth before speaking. "My father."

Jared's eyes bulged. "Dude. Are you serious?"

Artimus just nodded.

"I thought you were no longer on speaking terms with your father," Tasanee said.

"Well, yeah, I'm not, but . . . he is my father. He may not be the best father in the world, but he's still my father. Honestly, I doubt he's going to come."

"Then why did you bother sending him an invitation in the first place?" Jared asked.

"Because I just thought he ought to know that his son was getting married. And . . ." His voice started dropping off. "I just wanted him to see that I'm a success. I'm getting married, I'm now the Special Advisor to the Secretary of Magic on Muggle/Muggle-born Affairs. And I did it all on my own. I just . . . I just want to show him I'm not the failure he always said I was."

Jared's face hardened. "Hey, man, I know he's your father, but let's face it, the man treated you like crap. Merlin's beard, look what he did on graduation day. Yelled at you in front of all of us, kicked you out of the house just because you got a job with the Office of Wizarding-Muggle Relations. Hell, you haven't even talked to him since that day, and that was, what? Five years ago? Let's face it, aside from that one night he and your mom went at it and created you-" Jared ignored an eye roll from Tasanee. "You don't owe your old man squat."

Artimus just stared at Jared, digesting what his friend had said. At least, he began digesting it after his initial shock. It was a rare occasion that Jared dispensed good advice. Blunt and colorful, perhaps, but good advice nonetheless.

It was also advice that made him feel stupid. All his life, his father belittled him, embarrassed him, made him feel worthless. Most times he felt the day his father, for all intents and purposes, disowned him, was the best thing that could have happened to him. He started to finally stand on his own. He'd carved out a successful life for himself. The war, having friends like Jared and Jimmy and Rosa, being with Jenna, it filled him with a confidence he'd never experienced before. He thought of himself five years ago, then thought of himself today. No doubt about it. He had become a completely different person, and his father had nothing to do with that change, at least, in a positive way.

"You're right." He nodded, looking up at Jared. "I haven't needed my father for five years. Why should I care whether he approves of my life or not?"

"Yeah, now you're talking." Jared reached over the table and raised his palm. Artimus smiled and gave him a high-five.

The waitress came by a minute later. Artimus said they were waiting for Rosa and would order when she arrived. In the meantime, he talked to Jared and Tasanee about their experiences in Thailand. Jared seemed particularly excited that his boss had slowly given him new responsibilities, including trying to decipher the etchings found on a stone monument, the purpose of which no one had been able to figure out.

"It's like Tasanee said," Jared told him. "Just do whatever job Prajak gives you to the best of your ability, and eventually he'll have to give you better things to do. And low and behold, she was right. Is it any wonder why I love this woman so much?" A smile grew across his face.

"Jared." Tasanee lowered her head, a shy smile on her lips.

Surprise flared within Artimus. He felt he'd been mistaken thinking the old Jared had returned. If he could actually admit openly that he loved a girl, this was a new and improved Jared.

"So, Tasanee," Artimus said. "How have you been enjoying your first trip to the US?"

"I'm enjoying it a great deal, thank you. Yesterday Jared took me to see Milmothryn Market in Boston. It was unbelievable. Much bigger than any of the outdoor markets we have in Thailand."

"Good. I'm glad you're . . . Oh. There's Rosa."

Both Jared and Tasanee turned around as Rosa came in, a newspaper folded under her arm.

"Yo, cuz!" Jared waved. "Over here!"

Rosa turned and started toward them. Artimus furrowed his brow when he noticed her face. Unsmiling. Was she upset? No. Judging by her narrowed eyes and her tightened lips, she looked angry.

Jared apparently noticed it, too. "What's wrong with you? Some dark wizard get away from you?"

The skin around Rosa's nose crinkled. It made her look even angrier.

"Rosa?" Artimus tilted his head. "Are you all right?"

Her nostrils flare. She snatched the newspaper out from under her arm. "Have any of you read today's _All-Seeing Eye?"_

Jared shrugged. "Just the Quidditch scores."

"I only read the first few pages," Artimus answered. "Why?"

"So none of you read the society section?"

Jared gave Rosa a disgusted look. "Are you kidding? Why the heck would we want to read about where rich wizards and witches are going on vacation or what fancy robes they're wearing?"

Artimus shook his head. "I never read that section." He had to grow up hearing his father or step-mother read one article after another on Ulysses Rand's latest business venture or who he attended a Quidditch game with or the latest award he received for being such a successful businessman. Naturally _The All-Seeing Eye _wouldn't print anything negative about his father, not when he was a minority owner of the newspaper.

Rosa sat down and slammed the paper on the table. She snapped the pages until she got halfway through. She then stabbed at one section of the page. "Read."

Artimus leaned closer, as did Jared and Tasanee.

**WEALTHY WIZARDS AND WITCHES BEWARE! MUGGLES MAY BE AFTER YOUR MONEY.**

A puzzled look came over Jared's face. "What does this have to do with -"

"Just read." Rosa snapped.

Jared stared at his cousin, ready for some wise retort. He then bit his lip and kept silent. Judging from the expression on Rosa's face, Artimus thought that was a good idea.

He started reading the article.

_To say the Wizarding World remains hidden from the Muggle World is a misstatement. There are many Muggles who know of our existence. The relatives of Muggle-borns, for one. Certain high-ranking officials in Muggle governments have knowledge of our world. For many years, this did not pose a problem to our way of life._

_Now, however, that is changing, and it is changing to the detriment of the wealthiest members of Wizarding society._

_Over the past year, quite a few incidents have arisen of Muggles married to magical citizens trying to obtain their fortunes. Examples include . . ._

_Hirem Pike, a 108-year-old wizard who owned a successful chain of apothecaries throughout the Southeastern US. His great-granddaughter, Annabelle, became friends with a Muggle-born named Rico Navarez. Navarez's 33-year-old single Muggle mother, Felicia, wormed her way into Pike's life, married him, then six months later when he died, she inherited the vast amount of his fortune._

_Then there was the tragic case of Natalie Muser (formerly Naymick), whose family owns magical fisheries along the California coast. Her Muggle husband, Nick, was arrested three months ago when he poisoned his wife in order to claim part of the Naymick family's wealth._

_In the past, these sorts of situations would never have occurred. Laws were in place that prevented any Muggle married to a wizard or witch from inheriting any part of their spouse's fortune when said spouse passed on. But in the past year, those laws were repealed by the Continental Wizarding Legislature as part of Secretary of Magic Infante's agenda of currying favor with Muggle-borns._

_Much of this pro-Muggle/Muggle-born agenda is being pushed by Jimmy O'Bannon, one of the leaders in the Second Battle of Helghorst Island and a man who maintains a very close relationship with the Secretary's daughter, Rosa Infante of the U.S. Auror's Bureau. But there is someone else who is probably more responsible for encouraging Secretary Infante to sway the members of the Legislature into changing the law. And that someone, in fact, is a Muggle, one who is due to marry a member of one of the oldest and wealthiest families in the United States._

_Her name is Jenna Fabrici, the fiancé of Artimus Rand, the youngest son of Ulysses Rand, owner of Rand's Realm of Magical Necessities. _

"What?" A bewildered look came over Artimus' face. He tilted his head and continued staring at the paragraph.

"What the hell are they talking about?" Jared shook his head.

"Read," Rosa said through clenched teeth.

Trepidation spread through Artimus. Part of him wanted to shove the paper away, afraid to see what this article had to say about Jenna. Instead he steeled himself and read on.

_Artimus Rand met Fabrici as part of his job with the Office of Wizarding-Muggle Relations. He had gone to Fabrici's home in order to convince her to send her younger sister, Samantha, to the Fantimoor School of Magical Study in Washington, D.C. This visit turned out to be anything but official as shortly afterwards, Rand and Fabrici began a romantic relationship._

_But is Jenna Fabrici's desire to be with Artimus Rand motivated by love, or something more insidious?_

"_This young woman comes from a life of poverty, of squalor. Her parents are dead, she lived in what was basically a shack with her sister. A person in that situation would do anything to get out of it."_

_So says Ulysses Rand._

Artimus clenched his jaw. Anger burned in the pit of his stomach and spread through his body.

A tick developed under his eye as he continued to read.

_The elder Rand went on to say that Artimus let it slip how rich the family was, and that Fabrici saw her opportunity to extricate herself from a lifetime of poverty._

"_My son, unfortunately, is naïve in the ways of the world. He also has issues with attracting women, despite the family name. So when some girl, even one as mildly attractive as this Muggle girl, starts using what feminine wiles she has, well, when women don't normally pay attention to you, how could my son resist this Jenna Fabrici?"_

Artimus' head trembled in fury. He made a fist, imagining his father standing next to him, and that fist smashing into his damn face.

"What the hell!" Jared blurted, causing some patrons to turn toward their table. He ignored them and continued. "Where does he get off saying this kind of crap about Jenna?"

Tasanee said nothing. She just gaped at the article, the shock and disgust evident on her face.

"It gets worse," Rosa nearly growled.

Scowling, Artimus read on.

_Ulysses Rand claims that when Fabrici learned of the law regarding Muggles and magical families' fortunes, she insisted Artimus Rand use his influence in the Office of Wizarding-Muggle Relations to change it. And the youngest Rand certainly had the influence to do that. As with Muggle-born advocate Jimmy O'Bannon, Rand also had a close relationship with Secretary Infante's daughter, and convinced the leader of Wizarding America to take him on as an advisor. Operating under Jenna Fabrici's influence, Rand managed to convince Secretary Infante to make repealing the law a priority._

"_And our esteemed Secretary couldn't say no to Artimus," said Ulysses Rand. "The Infante family has a soft spot when it comes to my son, and Jenna Fabrici knew how to use that to her advantage."_

_So now the law is changed. Muggles married to wizards or witches are now entitled to inherit their spouse's family fortunes. Ulysses Rand fears what this means for the future of America's magical elite._

"_Obviously I do not regard Muggles or Muggle-borns the same way Death Eaters do, but we must think about the status of those families who have been on this continent since before The Great Break, the witches and wizards who helped build this country, who established traditions Muggles and Muggle-borns may not appreciate. With most of these fortunes come business interests. What would a Muggle know about running a wand shop or a Quidditch supply store or, say, a business like mine?"_

_Rand added. "There is also another problem I find disturbing. The attitudes of some of the younger members of this nation's older, wealthier families. Teenagers are always fascinated with new things, are eager to latch on to them. This push by people like Secretary Infante and Jimmy O'Bannon to create more tolerance and understanding toward Muggles and Muggle-borns has now turned those people into the latest fad. I have heard stories from friends of mine who say their children and grandchildren are actively seeking out Muggles and Muggle-borns to date and even marry simply because, in their vernacular, it looks cool. They don't understand that by marrying a Muggle, they might be opening the door for their non-magical wife or husband to steal away the fortunes their families have spent more than two hundred years amassing."_

_Opposition to the end of this law is not about prejudice. As Ulysses Rand points out, Muggles do not have the sort of knowledge needed to run magical businesses. The efforts of Secretary Infante and the Legislature to repeal this law may open the door to more incidents like what happened to Hirem Pike and Natalie Muser, and, may eventually, result in economic chaos in Wizarding America. _

"_All because of greed and manipulations of one, impoverished Muggle," added Ulysses Rand._

The rage was so great it froze Artimus. He just glared at the paper, the horrible words about Jenna racing through his mind. Words said by his father.

_How . . . how could he?_

And how could _The All-Seeing Eye _print that? What had Jenna ever done to any of them? How could they call her greedy? In his entire life he had never known anyone more compassionate, more sincere, than the woman who would soon be his wife.

For this pathetic excuse of a newspaper to say this about her . . .

For his own father to say this . . .

Artimus felt his cheeks glow red. Teeth clenched, he slammed his hand down on the paper and swept it off the table.

"Son-of-a-bitch!" The paper fell to the ground, along with utensils and napkins and his goblet of water. Everyone one in the tavern whipped their heads around to stare at him.

Artimus didn't care.

"Artimus," Tasanee said in a hesitant voice. "I'm so sorry. That . . . that was horrible."

"I still don't believe it." Jared shook his head. "I mean, I never thought much of your father, but this . . ." His face twisted in a mask of fury.

"This is a new low, even for him," said Rosa. "What kind of . . . of scum spreads lies like this about a girl like Jenna?"

Artimus stared at _The All-Seeing Eye_, its pages spread over the floor. He barely heard a waitress and the tavern owner approach their table to ask what was going on. He just narrowed his eyes at the offending pages, willing them to burst into flames.

Worry sliced through his anger. Worry over what Jenna would think when she learned about the article.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	37. Hate Mail

**CHAPTER 37: HATE MAIL**

**

* * *

**Artimus nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He checked his watch, then lifted his eyes to the ornate oak door with gold trim embedded in the brick wall at the end of the small alley. The door was one of the entry points to Haypippil Square from Muggle Washington, the door he had specially charmed so Jenna could use it without having to be accompanied by any magical persons.

The door Jenna would be walking through any minute.

Emotions crashed against his insides like churning waves. One moment he worried how Jenna would react when she saw that horrible article from _The All-Seeing Eye, _the next he felt nothing but anger toward his father.

_How could he do this?_

Again he checked his watch. Again he checked the door. In the three years he'd been with Jenna, this was the first time he actually dreaded seeing her.

The door opened. Artimus tensed as Jenna stepped into the alley.

"Hey, Artimus." She smiled at him, though not as vibrantly as usual. Classes, studying for finals, and the preparations for the wedding had put all sorts of stress on Jenna.

_And I'm about to add to it._

He greeted her with a quick kiss on the lips. "Um, how was your day?"

"Ugh! We had a pop quiz in Psychiatric Nursing so we could get ready for our final exam, at least that's what that hag I have for a professor claims. I think she just likes torturing us. And I know totally messed up on it." Jenna adjusted her shoulder bag as she walked side-by-side with Artimus toward their apartment. "Then spent about three hours in the library trying to finish up my seminar project. I must have checked every fact and figure in there three times. Maybe four." She then emitted a harsh sigh. "Oh jeez, then I still have to check and see if Samantha's bridesmaid dress is in, and make sure we have enough seats for the wedding and for the reception. I swear, if I don't wind up in a psych ward before all this is over, it'll be a miracle."

Artimus swallowed. He put an arm around Jenna, wondering if he should just hide today's copy of _The All-Seeing Eye_ and not bother telling her about it.

_No. She needs to know this._

"So how was your day?" she asked. "Hopefully better than mine. Didn't you have lunch with Rosa, Jared and Tasanee?"

"Yeah."

"How are they doing?"

"Um . . . fine."

Jenna's brow furrowed. "Artimus, are you okay?"

"Um . . . uh . . ."

She jumped in front of him, causing him to stop. "Artimus, what is it?"

He chewed on his lower lip, his eyes darting in all directions. "Um, there's um . . . there's something I need to show you."

Jenna tilted her head. "What?"

"Um . . . it's back at the apartment."

She fixed him with a puzzled look. Artimus expected her to demand she tell him what was going on. Instead she just said, "Okay."

Five minutes later they entered their apartment.

"So, what's with all the drama?" Jenna asked as she put down her bag.

Slowly, Artimus walked to the coffee table in their living room. His eyes narrowed at the copy of _The All-Seeing Eye, _the copy he would love to turn to ashes with an _Incendio_.

He reached down and picked up the newspaper. He had to force himself to turn around and walk back to Jenna.

"Um . . . re-read Page . . . Page Thirty-Five."

She gave him a curious gaze. "Okay." She took the paper, sat in one of the living room chairs and turned to the appropriate page.

Tension spread through every inch of Artimus' body as he stared at his fiancé. He found it hard to breathe as he waited for Jenna to get to the worst part of that damn article, and wondered how she'd react.

_If she cries because of this . . ._

Jenna's nose wrinkled. "Oh my God. Some woman in her thirties married a wizard who's a hundred and eight. Ew! Seriously, this is what you wanted me to see?"

"No. Keep reading."

She did.

"Jeez, they're pretty harsh on Jimmy. All he's doing is . . . is . . ."

Jenna's eyes widened. She gripped the newspaper tighter. "What the . . . what's my name doing in this?"

Artimus shuddered as Jenna kept reading. Her jaw dropped. She slowly shook her head. A minute later she began taking short, angry breaths. Her eyes bulged. Artimus wondered how far she'd gotten in the article.

"That bastard!" She slammed the newspaper on the floor and shot out of the chair. "That lying son-of-a-bitch!" She quickly walked up and down the living room. "How can he say all that? How can that damn rag print all that?"

"Um, well, um . . . I mean, we do have freedom of the press here, just like in the Muggle World."

"And that makes it okay! Jenna flung her arms out to her side. "Your father accused me of using you to influence the Secretary of Magic. He accused me of being a damn gold-digger!"

"No, it doesn't make it okay. He was out of line doing that."

"Out of line! That's all you can say? After all the crap he said about me? About us?" Jenna turned away, pressing her hands against the sides of her head.

Artimus went over to her and wrapped his hands around her waist. He gently pulled her against his torso and kissed the top of her head. "I'm sorry, honey. I'm so sorry about this."

Jenna sighed. "It's not your fault. It's your father's fault. It's that damn newspaper's fault."

He continued holding her against him, feeling her rapid, angry breaths. They served to fuel his own fury. A mental image of his father formed in his mind's eye.

Damn that man! Damn him for upsetting Jenna like this. He'd been out of his life for more than five years? Why the hell couldn't he leave him alone? Why the hell couldn't he just let him live his own life and be happy?

Why did he have to humiliate the woman he loved?

Artimus let go of Jenna and stomped over to the fireplace. He snatched a handful of Floo Powder from the urn.

"What are you doing?" Jenna asked.

"I'm going to see my father, and tell him to apologize to you, and to stay the hell out of our lives."

He flung the powder into the fireplace. Green flames whooshed out of the hearth.

"The Rand Mansion."

He stepped toward the flames.

"Artimus, wait."

He nearly stumbled in shock at Jenna's request. He spun around to face her. "Wait for what?"

She stared at the floor for a few moments before continuing. "I don't . . . please, don't go to your father's."

"Why not?"

"I just . . . I just don't want to see this turn into a big fight."

Artimus blinked, shock gripping him. "But what about all the stuff he said about you? All those lies? A minute ago you were mad, and now . . ."

"I am mad. But . . . what if you go over there to argue with your father, and it makes him so mad he does other stuff, stuff to try and ruin our wedding. Artimus, I want it to be a special day for us. I don't want anything to jeopardize that."

Artimus groaned. "He shouldn't get away with this. Dammit, he always gets away with stuff like this."

"Art, please." Jenna laid a hand on his chest. "This is . . . this is just like those supermarket tabloids we have in the Muggle World. They print all kinds of crap about celebrities. Most people don't believe them. It's probably the same in the Wizarding World. And the people who do believe them, well, like we care about their opinions."

Artimus' jaw stiffened. He didn't agree with Jenna. He wanted, needed, to confront his father over this, to get right in his face and tell him exactly what he thought of him, and to never say another bad word about Jenna.

"Artimus, please."

He stared into his fiancé's pleading eyes, recalled what she had said about how an argument with his father could ruin their wedding. That day meant so much to Jenna, to both of them.

Artimus sighed and placed both hands on Jenna's shoulders. "All right."

**XXXXX**

The next morning, Artimus shuffled into the kitchen. With a few waves of his wand coffee began brewing, oatmeal and toast were made, and grapefruit was sliced. He then went to the door to get today's edition of _The All-Seeing Eye._ He hesitated for a moment. Did he really want anything more to do with that rag after what they had printed about Jenna? He then thought about the letters to the editor section. Maybe some wizards and witches had written to express their outrage over the article.

Artimus opened the door, retrieved today's _All-Seeing Eye_, and headed back to the kitchen. He took a bite of his toast and turned to the letters to the editor section.

_What a brilliant idea by Secretary Infante. Let Muggles pocket the fortunes of witches and wizards. What's next? Letting them have wands?_

The next one read, _Many magical families have worked for centuries to acquire the wealth they have today. How can the Secretary of Magic allow for Muggles who happen to know of our existence to just waltz into our world and waltz out with all our money?_

And the one after that, _Sounds like this Jenna Muggle woman is proving you don't need an Imperius Curse to control the actions of other people. She just bats her eyes at some wizard and he helps undo hundreds of years of law and tradition. I hope Ulysses Rand keeps a sharp eye on his money before the Muggle makes off with it._

Artimus crushed the edge of his toast with his thumb and index finger. A rain of crumbs fell onto the table. Moments later, the entire toast dropped to the table and bounced onto the floor. Artimus barely paid it mind, instead scanning the rest of the section for letters that denounced yesterday's article.

He found none. He had a feeling his father's influence with _The All-Seeing Eye _had something to do with that.

"Good morning, hon." Jenna walked up to him and kissed him on the cheek. He turned to her, jaw stiffened.

"What's wrong?" She shifted her gaze toward _The All-Seeing Eye. _Her eyes narrowed and she let out a frustrated sigh. "My God, this is ridiculous."

With another harsh sigh, she took her seat at the table and sipped her coffee.

"I'm sorry, Jenna."

She shook her head. "It's not your fault. It's just a bunch of idiots. Still, I can't believe they'd -"

A tapping came from the window. Artimus saw a brown owl on the window sill, an envelope in its beak.

Brow furrowed, he got up and headed over to the window. _Who would send us an owl this early in the morning?_

He opened the window. The owl flew inside and landed on the table next to Jenna. She gave the bird a curious gaze before taking the envelope and opening it.

"Oh for crying out loud!"

"What is it?" Artimus headed back to the table.

"It's hate mail." Jenna shook the letter in front of her. "I actually got hate mail. 'Hey lady. How dare you try to rob from one of the oldest and most respected magical families in America? You should be ashamed of yourself.'"

"Who sent you that?"

"I don't know. The a-hole didn't bother signing it."

Anger flared inside Artimus. He couldn't believe this was –

Another owl flew into their apartment. Then another. Both carried hate mail for Jenna. Neither had a return address.

_You're the type of Muggle that gives the rest of your kind a bad name. Keep your grubby hands off our money._

The third letter sent a shiver of fear through Artimus.

_Hey, Muggle. Go back to your own world, if you know what's good for you._

"You're staying here today," Artimus said in a flat tone.

Jenna's head whipped around toward him. "What?"

"You saw that last letter. 'Go back to your own world, if you know what's good for you.' That's a threat, Jenna. This scum just threatened you, because of that stupid article, because of what my damn father said. There's no way you're leaving this apartment today."

"Art, I can't just stay cooped up here. I have classes. I have finals to get ready for."

"Your life is more important to me than some tests."

"They're just stupid letters. Just a bunch of words."

"And that's how it starts!" Artimus flung out his arms. "First it's words, then people act on those words. How do you think the Death Eaters got started?"

Jenna rolled her eyes. "Now you're overreacting."

"Dammit, Jenna, I'm not gonna let you get hurt. If one of these lunatics comes after you, what are you going to be able to do about it?"

"Oh, well forgive me for not being lucky enough to be a Muggle-born like my sister." Jenna got to her feet. "I guess without a wand I'm useless."

"That's not what I mean. I . . ." Artimus bit his lip. Is this what his father wanted? For he and Jenna to fight? For that damn article to drive a wedge between them? Threaten their relationship?

_No. I'm not letting that bastard win._

He took a calming breath. "Jenna, I'm sorry for yelling. It's just . . . I love you. If anything happened to you, I . . . I don't know what I'd do."

Jenna gave him a sympathetic look. She reached out and took hold of his hand. "Art, I know you mean well. But we can't let people like this rule our lives. I'll be fine. Please, let's not overreact to this."

Shoulders slumped, Artimus stared at his feet before answering. "Yeah, all right."

Jenna smiled at him. "Thank you." She kissed him on the cheek.

They went back to eating breakfast. Before they finished, four more owls showed up, all bearing hate mail for Jenna.

**XXXXX**

Artimus nervously waited by the alley door, wondering if he should have just Apparated to Jenna's school and rode back with her. He had popped in a couple times at the college during the course of the day, staying out of sight while checking on her. Thankfully, nothing happened to her.

_Maybe she was right. Maybe that one letter was just an empty threat._

Still he wished he just met her by her car in the school parking lot. But had he done that, Jenna would have been very upset with him.

_I'd rather she be upset with me than –_

The door opened. Much to his relief, Jenna walked through.

"Hi, honey." His voice trailed when he noticed the sour look on his fiancé's face. "Uh, is everything all right?"

Jenna stomped up to him, holding a stack of envelopes. "You know where I found these? On the hood of my car. I came out after class and there they were."

"Did you read any of them?"

"Why bother? It's the same crap I got this morning." She brushed past him and marched up to a trash can near the cobblestone street. Jenna flung all the envelopes into it.

"C'mon," she muttered. "I just wanna go home."

When they got back to the apartment, Artimus offered to make dinner. Jenna agreed, then went into the bedroom to study until it was time to eat.

Artimus grabbed a cookbook and flipped through it until he came to baked chicken breasts. That would be easy and quick. He pointed his wand at the icebox when something tapped on the window.

_Enough already, please._

He tried to ignore it, instead reading the recipe.

Two distinct taps came from the window. Seconds later there was a third.

A fourth . . . a fifth . . . six . . . seven . . . eight different beaks rapped on the window. Artimus tensed, wondering if the glass would shatter. Wondering if Jenna could hear –

"Dammit, how can I think with all that racket!" she shouted from the bedroom. "Artimus, will you please get rid of them!"

"Gladly," he muttered under his breath and stomped to the window. His blood boiled when he saw nearly a dozen owls on the sill, hopping over one another and tapping on the glass.

Artimus shut his eyes and cast a Flare Charm. He sensed a bright white light fill the living room. He waited a few seconds before opening his eyes. All the owls had leapt off the window sill and flew over the roof of the building across from their apartment.

He walked into the bedroom and saw Jenna sitting cross-legged on the bed, books and folders spread out of the blanket. She rubbed her forehead before looking up at him.

"They're gone," he told her.

"Thanks." She snorted and lowered her head, staring at one of her nursing books.

Artimus frowned and slid back into the living room.

"Artimus."

He turned back to Jenna. "Yes?"

"I'm . . . I'm sorry for yelling at you like that. It's just . . . God, there's so much going on already, and now that article and this stupid hate mail. You must think I'm turning into a world class bitch."

"No. I don't think that at all. You've got a lot on your mind. I saw people act the way you are back at Salem when we had our finals. You'll get through it."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." She smiled at him.

"Any time."

"And thanks for getting rid of all those stupid owls. I swear if one more -"

Something tapped on the window.

"Oh for . . ." Jenna clenched her jaw, her head trembling in anger.

"I'll take care of it. You just stay here and study."

Artimus headed back into the living room and saw a grayish owl on the window sill. Scowling, he raised his wand, ready to cast another Flare Charm.

That's when he noticed the envelope, orange with black trim. Envelopes like that only came from one place. The Fantimoor School of Magical Study.

Samantha's school.

"Jenna, I think you should come out here."

He heard a moan coming from the bedroom. Seconds later Jenna entered the living room, looking rather perturbed. "What?" She then caught sight of the owl, and her eyes narrowed.

"It's not hate mail for you, hon. It's from Fantimoor."

Jenna drew her head back. "I wonder what this is about?"

Artimus wondered that, too. He didn't think Sam had gotten in trouble. During her three years at Fantimoor, she'd only received detention once.

_Could she be hurt?_

He opened the window and let the owl in. It flew onto the kitchen table and waited for Jenna to take the envelope from its beak. Artimus got the bird a treat, then stood next to Jenna as she read the letter.

_Dear Miss Fabrici,_

_I wish to inform you that your sister, Samantha, was the victim of a full-body Deboning Curse, which she suffered this afternoon._

"What!" Jenna's eyes widened. Her hand jumped to her chest. "Deboning Curse? Artimus, what does . . . did they . . . they took away her bones?"

"Well, yes . . ."

Panic flared on Jenna's face.

"But don't worry. All they need to do is give her some Skele-Gro." He bit his lip, deciding it was best not to let Jenna know that regrowing bones was a long and painful process.

The color drained from Jenna's face. Her breathing increased. "Why? Why would someone do this to her?"

They returned their attention to the letter.

_Let me assure you that Samantha is being cared for by our school nurse, and has been given a potion called Skele-Gro. Within a day or two, all of Samantha's bones will be completely restored._

_The culprits have been identified as Merwin Rikard and Oscar Hinkle, a pair of Sixth Year boys here at Fantimoor._

"Sixth Years!" Jenna blurted. "Sam's only a Third Year, for God's sake."

Artimus felt his cheeks turn red with anger as they continued reading.

_Both have been severely punished, especially after what they told me was the reason behind their assault on Samantha. Both boys cited the article from yesterday's All-Seeing Eye accusing you of marrying the son of Ulysses Rand solely for financial gain. Rikard and Hinkle come from very well-to-do families whose roots go back in this country long before The Great Break._

_That being said, I assure you, Miss Fabrici, that we here at Fantimoor do not tolerate these sorts of actions by any of our students, no matter their social standing or financial status. Your sister is a bright, well-liked young witch, and we are blessed to have her at Fantimoor. Please know this, the vast majority of students and staff at this school do not support the views expressed in that article. I hope this incident does not cast Fantimoor in an unfavorable light with you. We will strive to make sure such a thing does not happen in the future._

_Regards,_

_Obadiah Augustine_

_Headmaster, Fantimoor School of Magical Study._

"This is unbelievable." Jenna crushed the letter in her hand. "It's bad enough these jackasses are sending me hate mail, but now they're going after my sister? She's only thirteen!"

"Jenna." Artimus put a hand on her shoulder. "You have every right to be mad. But Samantha's going to recover, and the headmaster said he'd make sure this doesn't happen again."

"What, is he going to personally walk my sister to every class? Assign her bodyguards? The people at Fantimoor can't be around her all the time."

"I'm sure they'll do the best they can."

"That's not good enough. Not when we're talking about my sister." Jenna stormed across the living room, flinging the crumpled piece of parchment against the wall. She then took a breath and spun around to face him. "Why did you have to let your father know about our wedding?"

Artimus scrunched his face in bewilderment. "Huh?"

"Because you wanted to show him you could be a success on your own? To shove all his insults, all those years of putting you down, back in his face? Well now look what's happened. He says all that stuff in the paper. Owls are flying in here one after the other, and a couple of spoiled little assholes put a curse on my sister!"

"Jenna . . ." He took a step toward her.

"When is it gonna end, Artimus? Is this just gonna go on and on? Hate mail every day? My sister living in fear of being attacked every day? Is this what it's going to be like being married to you?"

Artimus' chest tightened. His feet stayed glued to the carpet. "Wha . . . what are you saying?"

Jenna's lips parted. Her mouth hung open, silently.

"Jenna?" Worry flooded his voice.

Jenna's jaw trembled. Her eyes watered. "I . . . I . . ."

A sob escaped her throat before she hurried into the bedroom and slammed the door.

Artimus stood statue still as he heard his fiancé crying through the closed door.

Fear consumed him. Would he be able to call Jenna his fiancé for much longer?

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	38. Power Play

**CHAPTER 38: POWER PLAY**

**

* * *

**Artimus stood on the cobblestone street of Boston's Milmothryn Market, fists clenched, staring at the monstrous colonial-style building with its red siding, twelve-over-twelve windows, and multiple chimney columns sprouting from the slanted roof. Just beneath that roof hung a large mirror which displayed the image of a cauldron, which transformed into a broom, which then changed into a set of men's dress robes. Tremors of rage went through his body as he aimed his narrowed eyes at the sign below the ever-changing items.

RAND'S REALM OF MAGICAL NECESSITIES.

His shoulders rose and fell with anger. _You bastard._

It wasn't the first time he'd thought that about his father, nor the first time he wanted to shout those words at him. If there'd ever been a time he'd be justified in doing that, this would be it.

Yet he remained rooted to the spot.

Artimus shut his eyes and grinded his teeth. The old fear returned, the fear of confronting his father. Memories flashed through his mind of his father yelling at him, berating him for not getting good grades or failing to make the right impression among his friends. He barely managed to get out a "But" or a "Dad, please" before the man snapped at him to shut up.

"You don't give me excuses. You don't talk back to me. You don't say anything! The only thing you do is what I tell you to do, unless you want to end up a failure."

_I'm not a failure._ He'd fought everything from Death Eaters to setagothas during the war, and survived. He was an advisor to the Secretary of Magic, and he didn't need his father's help to get that job. He was going to marry the most wonderful woman in the world.

_Am I?_

He recalled Jenna's words from the night before, how marrying him might put her and her sister in danger.

Artimus clenched his fists so tight they shook. He glared at the sign, wishing he could blow it up with just a thought.

_You may have cost me a life with Jenna._

Scowling, he stomped into the store. A throng of people moved through the numerous aisles that contained everything from cauldrons to broom cleaning kits to Rememberalls to Wizarding Wireless sets. Hundreds of candles hovered near the high, gray paneled ceiling, a ceiling devoid of any aesthetics.

_Aesthetics cost money. Money that could fill my father's pockets._

"Well, well, look who's come crawling back to the family."

Artimus spun around and caught sight of a magical portrait hanging near the doorway. The subject was a stout man with a neatly trimmed gray beard and expensive burgundy robes. Artimus recognized him immediately. Gordon Rand, his great-great grandfather.

"So, boy," the man continued. "Did you finally come to your senses and leave that Muggle?"

"Shut up!" Artimus hollered, causing a few nearby customers to turn to him, shock flashing over their faces.

Gordon Rand's eyes bulged. His cheeks reddened as he took a few steps forward. For a second, Artimus feared his long-dead relative would leap right out of the portrait.

"Never speak to me in that manner!" Gordon Rand jabbed a finger toward him. "You show respect to your family at all times, even those of us who are no longer in the world of the living."

Artimus opened his mouth, then closed it and snorted. "I don't have time to argue with a portrait. I need to speak with my father." He whirled around and walked away from his great-great grandfather's image.

"Your father may not want to speak with you, after what you've done," Gordon Rand hollered after him.

He ignored him, stomping down one of the aisles until he spotted a winding staircase, the one that led to his father's office. His feet pounded the wooden steps in rapid succession. His heart hammered away, fueled by anxiety and fear and fury.

When he reached the landing, he stopped. Could he actually do this? Could he really stand up to his father?

Again he remembered Jenna's words last night, and her crying immediately afterwards.

Jaw set, he started down the hallway.

The door at the end of the corridor opened. Artimus stopped, his eyes wide with shock. A stocky young man with thick brown hair and a round face stepped into the hallway. His eyes lit up with surprise when he spotted Artimus. Several seconds passed without either one of them speaking.

Finally, Artimus broke the silence. "Hello, Horace."

Artimus' brother drew a slow breath. His eyes narrowed slightly. "Artimus? Why are you here?"

"I need to talk to Dad."

"Then you should make an appointment."

"I'm his son."

Horace Rand shrugged. "So am I. But if Arcadius and I want to see Dad during business hours, we have to make an appointment."

"To hell with appointments. I'm sure you saw what he said in _The All-Seeing Eye_ about Jenna."

"Of course. I read that newspaper every day, cover to cover. I thought Dad had some valid points."

Artimus scowled. "You would. You take after him."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

He growled and walked up to his brother. "I didn't come here to argue with you. I have to talk to Dad. Now!"

"And I told you, make an appointment." Horace folded his arms. "Dad's a very busy man. Maybe you've forgotten that. After all, it's been five years since you walked out on us."

Artimus' eyes widened. The comment left him astonished. Horace was there the day of the Salem graduation. He saw how their father kicked him out of the house. How in the hell could he . . .

Artimus stared at his older brother. Horace gazed at him with a determined look. He wasn't about to let him see Dad.

Artimus wondered what Jimmy or Rosa or Jared would do in this kind of situation.

_They'd grab Horace by his robes and slam him against the wall, then storm into Dad's office._

He couldn't bring himself to do the first part to his brother. The second part, however . . .

Artimus slipped past his brother. He caught an expression of disbelief on Horace's face. Well, of course Horace would have trouble believing this. Never before had he disobeyed his brothers.

"Ar . . . Artimus? Get back here."

He ignored him and headed for Dad's office.

"Artimus? Artimus, I'm talking to you. You are not allowed in Dad's office. Artimus, stop! Stop, now!"

He didn't stop. Instead he grabbed the handle and pushed open the door.

He stepped into a spacious office with leather sofas and chairs arranged in a semi-circle around a horseshoe-shaped desk. A large map of the United States hung on the wall opposite him, showing the locations of every branch of Rand's Realm of Magical Necessities, the image of a coin hovering over each one, colored gold, silver or bronze, depending on their amount of profits. The other three walls had portraits of Rand relatives, some occupied, some not.

Ulysses Rand sat at his desk, writing on a piece of parchment. He looked up, his eyes widening at the sight of Artimus.

"Dad. Dad." Horace hurried into the office. "Dad, I'm sorry. I tried to stop him, but he just -"

His father held up his hand, then jerked his head, signaling Horace to leave.

Horace nodded, then fixed Artimus with a parting glare before stepping outside and closing the door.

Ulysses Rand leaned back in his chair, eyes still on Artimus, an annoyed look on his face.

_He always looks annoyed._

"Artimus. Any reason why you feel the need to barge into my office?"

"You know damn well why I'm here! How dare you say all those things about Jenna in _The All-Seeing Eye?"_

His father took a slow breath and leaned back in his seat. "I'm simply looking out for our interests. With Secretary Infante pushing all his pro-Muggle and Muggle-born reforms through the Legislature, I have to be careful that no Muggle finagles her way into our family and makes off with the fortune we've worked centuries to accumulate."

"That's a lie and you know it!" Artimus stomped closer to the desk. "Five years. It's been five years since you kicked me out of the house. And in that time, I've built my own life. I have a good job, I'm engaged to a great woman. And all without any help from you. Does that bother you so much you have to get the newspaper to print lies about Jenna? Can you not stand to see me happy? Are you so determined to ruin my life?"

His father responded with a grunt. "Listen to you. They give you a Haldus Cross for being a war hero, you have the ear of the Secretary of Magic, and you suddenly think the entire world revolves around you. This isn't solely about you, boy. This is about our family. We have an image to maintain. You may not care about it, but others do." His father gazed at the portraits of their relatives.

"You're right. I don't care about your image. I care about Jenna, and what that damn article is doing to her. To us."

"That's always been your problem, Artimus. Selfishness."

Artimus' jaw fell open. "Selfishness? You're accusing me of selfishness? The only thing you care about is putting more gold into the family vault. That's not being selfish?"

His father grimaced and shook his head. "Not when more money in our vault means more power and influence for this family. Not just now, but centuries from now. We were one of the first wizarding families to come to this part of the country from England. We were one of the most successful merchants in The Colonies before there was even a Salem Witches Institute. We helped build Wizarding America long before The Great Break and long after it. We command respect not only in this country, but across the world. And I'll not have you jeopardize it by marrying a Muggle."

"Why are you so threatened by her?"

"Muggles and Muggle-borns have their place, and their place is not in a family like ours."

Artimus snorted. "They have their place. Listen to you. You almost sound like a Death Eater. You're not just a snob, you're a damn bigot!"

His father's head trembled. Anger lines marred his fleshy face. "Don't you ever talk to me that way. I don't care what happened between us, I am still your father, and you will -"

"You were no kind of father to me!" Artimus felt years of rage burning white hot inside him. "I saw how Jimmy's father and Jared's father and Rosa's father acted. I saw how Mister Weasley acted over in Britain. They actually cared about their children. They didn't make them feel worthless or stupid or acted like they were a disappointment. You did none of that with me."

"As if coddling you would have done any good. You were weak, and you were worthless to us. And I pushed you, so you could make something of yourself and be worthy of the Rand name. But what did you do instead? You fell in with the Diazes and the Infantes and those Muggles and their damn son. They filled your head with all kinds of nonsense, making you think you were no better than anyone else. We are better than everyone else! We are one of the most influential families in the Wizarding World. And you're pissing that all away for a Muggle!"

"I love her!"

His father gave him a dismissive wave. "Love. Where will that get you in life?"

"I feel good when I'm with Jenna. She makes me a better person. She's a part of me."

His father groaned and rubbed his forehead. "You sound like some brain-addled poet."

"I wouldn't expect you to understand," Artimus said. "You just get married to have some beautiful young witch on your arm to make you look good. And Horace's and Arcadius' wives are only around to make sure we have male heirs for your business."

"Unlike you, we have to think about the future of this family, along with our standing in the Wizarding World. An old, successful pureblood family like ours is expected to marry people that come from other old successful pureblood families. That's why people respect us. Not just for our money, but because of a lineage that dates back hundreds of years. And there is no place in a family such as ours for a Muggle." His father shook his head. "Honestly, at the very least you could have married a Muggle from a wealthy family, instead of one that lived in a shack in Virginia. Though from what I heard, calling her former home a shack would be a compliment."

"Jenna did the best she could to take care of Samantha. Do you have any idea how much she sacrificed for her sister? Ha! What do you know about sacrifice anyway? What do you know about taking care of people?"

His father narrowed his eyes. "I didn't take care of you? You had a roof over your head and food in your stomach and clothes on your back for seventeen years because of me, boy."

"And that was all you were ever good for. Yeah, you provided for me, but you didn't care about me."

"Oh, spare me the sentimental drivel. You sound as bad as the Infantes or the Diazes."

"They cared about me more than you ever did."

His father opened his mouth, but Artimus cut him off before he could speak. "Look, I'm not here to talk about me. I'm here to talk about Jenna. Do you have any idea what that article did to her? She's getting hate mail all the time. She doesn't need that stress, not with her finals coming up and the wedding only a few weeks away. She spent half the night crying. And Samantha got hit with a Deboning Curse at Fantimoor. She's only thirteen-years-old, Dad. Thirteen."

"It's not my fault some idiot student cursed her."

"It is! Do you really believe that would have happened if that stupid article hadn't have come out? Is that what you want? For people to get hurt? Are you that cold-hearted?"

"Oh stop overreacting. With a little Skele-Gro, that Muggle's sister will be fine."

"That's not the point! Jenna's worried Samantha might be attacked again, especially if she marries me. She . . . She . . ."

His father looked up at him, a smirk forming on his face. "She might call off the wedding? Well, one can certainly hope so."

Artimus slammed both palms on the desk. His father's eyes flared in surprise. "Leave her alone, damn you! Leave us alone! You talk to someone over at _The All-Seeing Eye _and take back everything you said about Jenna."

"Or what?"

Artimus froze. His mind raced for a response. He couldn't come up with one.

A wicked smile crossed his father's lips. "Are you finally understanding what I've been trying to teach you all your life? About power? I have it, boy. I have it with that newspaper. They won't print a retraction unless I say it. They won't print any letters to the editors in opposition to the article unless I say it. And if they do, then I pull my advertising from their paper, and there are other businessmen who will do the same on my say so. Their bottom line will always take priority over ethics and fairness."

Artimus' mouth opened and closed wordlessly as he struggled for some kind of response. Dammit, why couldn't he be like Jimmy and Rosa? They could always think on their feet in any situation.

_Rosa? Wait a minute . . ._

"There's . . . there's Secretary of Magic Infante. He won't let you get away with this."

His father emitted a short chuckle. "Secretary Infante can't do a thing to me. We have freedom of the press in this country. And your status as a 'war hero' makes you a public figure, which means by default, your Muggle fiancé is a public figure, which makes both of you fair targets."

Artimus balled his fists. Rage burned through his veins. He almost gave in to the urge to punch his father right in his fat, ugly face.

_And what good will that do?_

His father fixed him with an arrogant smile. "Face it, boy. You have no power. I can do whatever I wish to make sure we don't have a Muggle sully our family name, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it. Not a damn thing."

Artimus just stared at his father, his entire body quaking. He wanted to scream at the son-of-a-bitch, let fly a stream of curses and insults.

But again, what good would that do?

Artimus closed his eyes and lowered his head. He'd beaten him. Once again, his father had beaten him.

He spun around and trudged to the door, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. He flung open the door, not bothering to close it. That allowed his father's laughter to follow him down the hallway.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	39. Counter Play

**CHAPTER 39: COUNTER PLAY**

**

* * *

**Rosa didn't how she managed it. Somehow she kept herself from screaming or throwing things after Artimus told her about the confrontation with his father.

She sat on the couch in her apartment, staring at her friend, who sat in a chair across from her. Artimus' head hung low. She couldn't count how many times his voice cracked. It amazed her he hadn't broke down and cried.

Yet.

"I just . . . I don't know what to do." Artimus ran a hand slowly over the back of his head. He then straightened up, the tears in his eyes evident.

Fury blazed through Rosa. She called up a mental image of Ulysses Rand. _You heartless son-of-a-bitch!_

More insults burst through her mind, words that, even at twenty-two years of age, would have still earned her a stern reprimand from her mother if she heard them.

She clenched her teeth, deep lines forming on her brow. She didn't think it was possible to hate Ulysses Rand any more than she already did. But after this, her hatred rose to a whole new level, a level previously reserved for people like Death Eaters.

Rosa wanted to give in, to unleash a torrent of the most vile words she could imagine. But she caught herself. Art didn't need her screaming in righteous anger about his pondscum father. He needed her to help him.

"Artimus." She reached out and took hold of his hands. "I am so sorry. That was . . . that was inexcusable."

He shook his head. "I . . . I tried to come up with something. Some way to force him to stop. But . . . but I couldn't think of anything. Not like you or Jimmy would. It's . . . I . . . It's just like it's been my whole life. He bullies me, and there's not a thing I can do about it."

Rosa felt her face redden. She took a couple deep, semi-calming breaths. "What about Jenna? Did you tell her about this?"

Artimus shook his head. "We've barely talked since . . . since what happened to Samantha. Honestly, I'm . . . I'm afraid . . ."

Rosa's face scrunched in puzzlement. "Afraid of what?"

"Afraid . . . afraid that if I try to talk to Jenna about it, she . . . she might say she doesn't want to marry me." His voice trailed off and his jaw trembled.

"That is not gonna happen. You hear me, Art? That rat bastard father of yours is not gonna ruin things between you and Jenna."

"But what can we do about it?"

"We get him to retract everything he said about Jenna in that damn article. Or at the very least, we get him to issue a statement calling for an end to the hate mail."

Artimus frowned. "He'll never do any of that. And there's no way we can force him."

"Oh, I'm sure we can find a way."

"You can't. He's too powerful."

"Even powerful people have weaknesses."

"Not my father."

"_Everyone_ has a weakness." Rosa leaned closer to him. "We just have to find it."

Artimus sighed heavily. "I don't know what it would be. He's rich, he has connections everywhere. In the government, in business, with _The All-Seeing Eye_ and most of the Wizarding Wireless networks. What can we do?"

Rosa chewed on her lower lip, wishing she could come up with an answer.

_C'mon. Think. Think!_

Maybe she could go after him over the Deboning Curse Samantha suffered, claiming his comments incited the attack. Though such an accusation might be hard to prove in a criminal trial, especially since she couldn't remember any of Ulysses Rand's quotes even hinting at violence toward Muggles and Muggle-borns.

"C'mon." Rosa got up and headed toward her bedroom. She looked over her shoulder to make sure Artimus followed her. It took him a few seconds more before he pushed himself out of his chair. She waited until he was a couple feet away before entering her bedroom. She made her way to her desk, opening one of the drawers, and pulled out a newspaper article.

_The _newspaper article.

She used her wand to light the candles around her desk, then set down the article.

"You kept that?" Artimus pointed to the article.

"Actually, I was tempted to just _Incendio _the damn thing. But I just had this feeling that I should hold onto it for . . . heck, I don't know. Maybe I had a premonition and didn't know it. Maybe Divination wasn't the bullcrap class we all thought it was."

Rosa read the article, Artimus looking over her shoulder. She scanned it line-by-line, trying to find something she could use to her advantage. But there was no indication that Ulysses Rand was advocating violence. His opinions definitely bordered on slander. Again, something hard to prove in the legal arena, especially if Rand cloaked it in political speech. There you could call people all sorts of rotten names and accuse them of being the worst person in the world, and it was all protected by the law.

_There's gotta be something._

Rosa looked through the article again. And again. And again. There had to be something she was missing, something easy to overlook.

She started from the top, and very slowly read.

"_This young woman comes from a life of poverty, of squalor. Her parents are dead, she lived in what was basically a shack with her sister."_

Rosa eyed Ulysses Rand's name after the quote. Something made the hairs on the back of her neck tingle.

"How much did your father know about Jenna before the article came out?"

Artimus shrugged. "Not much. At least I don't think so. Until this afternoon, I hadn't talked to him since the day we graduated from Salem. Whatever he knows about Jenna would have to come from someone else."

"Mm." Rosa leaned back in her chair. "And I doubt the people your father associates with would know much about a Muggle nursing student, or even care about her." She looked back at the paragraph. "I'm starting to wonder about some of these details."

"What do you mean?"

"The way your father talks about where Jenna lived before she met you. The words he uses. 'Squalor.' 'Shack.' And he mentions her parents' deaths."

"Yeah?"

"It may not be many words, but it speaks volumes to the fact he knows certain details about Jenna's life, things that aren't usually made public." Rosa twisted in her chair to face Artimus. "I know you were interviewed by reporters after we got our medals. How much did you tell them about Jenna?"

"Just that she was a Muggle I met during the course of my job."

"What about Samantha? How much does she talk about her family life before she went to Fantimoor?"

Artimus shrugged again. "I don't know. I assume most people there know her parents are dead. As for her living conditions . . . I don't know."

"Well, if she was like most of the poorer kids we knew at Salem, I doubt she goes around bragging about the apartment her and Jenna used to live in, especially if there are stuck-up assholes like Merak Mather at Fantimoor." She took a breath. "I'm wondering if maybe this information came directly from the Department of Magic."

"But how? The Department doesn't release personal information about the families of Muggle-borns."

"Somehow I doubt that little fact means anything to your father. And you said he has contacts in the government."

"Yeah, but which ones would do this? Maybe one of the legislators?"

"Maybe, but . . ." Rosa bobbed her head slowly back and forth.

"But what?"

"Even a legislator can't just walk into the Office of Wizarding-Muggle Relations and scan personal records, not unless he or she puts in a request with the director."

"Then that's probably what they did."

"I don't think so." Rosa shook her head. "If your father wanted to get personal information about Jenna, he'd do it in such a way that wouldn't leave a paper trail. So I doubt one of the legislators that kiss his ass would put in an official request. They'd take another route."

Artimus' face tightened. "A bribe?"

"You know your father isn't beyond doing that."

"But I know the witch who took over for Director Nordhagen, Dawn Lindemann. She's a Muggle-born herself, and a good person. I can't imagine her doing something like this."

"It doesn't necessarily have to be the witch or wizard at the top. It could be one of the, as the Muggles call them, worker _drumz_. Maybe even someone who'd have an axe to grind with you."

"C'mon, Rosa. I don't go out of my way to make enemies."

"Sometimes just being yourself is enough to make enemies. Can you think of anyone you worked with in that office who might have it out for you?"

"No. I just did my job. I didn't treat anyone bad or try to use people for my own gain or . . . or . . ." Artimus' lips tightened. He looked to the far wall in thought.

"What?" Rosa asked.

A few seconds passed before he turned back to her. "I just thought of someone. Patrick Pimmelock."

Rosa's eyes widened. "Wait a minute? I think I remember that name. Isn't he the guy you had a run-in with the day you met Jenna?"

"Yeah. He accused me of trying to screw him over, of not letting him be promoted to a better job."

"I remember you telling me all that. I swear, I half-expected to hear you hexed him the way you were going on."

Artimus frowned, his gaze shifting to the floor.

"Well," Rosa began, "I think we might have a prime suspect for who leaked Jenna's personal information to your father."

"Can you arrest him for that?"

"Pimmelock? Hell yeah."

"What about my father?"

"Him, too." The corners of Rosa's mouth curled. "Unfortunately, a good arbiter could probably argue down any time in jail and make it so your dad only has to pay a fine. I doubt that's gonna stop him from trying to wreck things between you and Jenna."

"Then it's hopeless." Artimus threw up his arms and stormed across the room. "He's going to win. He always wins. He always ruins everything for me."

"No he's not, Art." Rosa leapt from her chair and went over to him. He grasped his shoulder and continued. "He is not going to win this time. In fact, I may have some other ways to get at him besides exposing any dealings he may have had with Pimmelock."

"Like what?"

A wicked grin formed on Rosa's lip. "What's the most important thing in the world to your father?"

"Money. Power. Prestige."

"Bingo. The third one. Prestige. Your dad is obsessed with the Rand family name. We know what lengths he'll go to to keep any 'undesirables' out of his family. But my guess is in the three hundred-plus years your family's been in this country, they must have churned out a few black sheep."

"I don't know. I never heard of any 'black sheep' when I was growing up."

"Trust me, you have 'em. Every family has them. Even mine. I have an aunt who actually thinks Hister was a great guy." Rosa referred to the most notorious dark wizard in American history.

Artimus drew his head back in surprise. "Are you serious?"

"Heck yeah. Aunt Grace." Rosa shook his head. "The woman's a total nutjob. I think the last time I saw her I was nine. And trust me, I'm not anxious to have a reunion with her."

"So if there's someone like your Aunt Grace in my family, how do we find out?"

"That's where Jared comes in. The Magical Museum of North America keeps lineage charts of all the old American magical families, including yours. Heck, we could probably trace the Rand family's roots all the way back to England, to Merlin's time if we wanted. There's gotta be someone in the family tree your father wouldn't want the public to know about."

Artimus frowned. "But how do we get it out to the public? My father's a part owner of _The All-Seeing Eye_. And he has contacts with most of the Wizarding Wireless networks."

"There are news outlets where he doesn't have any influence, where the people there would have no problem telling him to go to hell."

"Which ones?"

"Well, one in particular Jimmy can help with. He still doesn't know about all this, right?"

"No." Artimus shook his head. "Jimmy and Mireet are coming back from England next week. If we sent them an owl, it would get there long after they left."

"Then I'll just have to Floo him and tell him. And I'm sure he'd have no trouble convincing his, um, loony friend to help us."

She noticed recognition flash I Artimus' eyes. He knew exactly whom she meant by that comment.

"We're gonna fix him, Art. We're gonna fix him good."

The veins in Artimus' neck stuck out. His eyes glistened with tears. "Rosa, I . . . I don't know what to say. Thank you . . . thank you just doesn't cover it. I . . ."

"Hey. I love you and Jenna. I'd do anything for you two."

Artimus gave her a shaky smile and hugged her. "Thank you."

Rosa smiled and tightened her embrace, feeling tears sting the corners of her eyes.

"Just be careful, please," Artimus said. "My father can be very formidable."

"So can I."

**XXXXX**

Rosa stood outside Rand's Realm of Magical Necessities, taking deep breaths, going over her plan of attack one last time.

The last two days had been some of her busiest in a long time. But it was necessary to have everything she needed before facing this Ulysses Rand. At first, she debated telling her parents about her plan. If this fell apart, Rand and his buddies in the press would most certainly link her actions to them. Leaving them ignorant could help lessen the impact of any scandal. But her parents were very fond of Artimus, and very upset by the article, Dad especially. He had told reporters that Ulysses Rand's allegations regarding Jenna were "unfounded and completely irresponsible." Even Artimus' dad wasn't powerful enough to keep comments from the Secretary of Magic out of _The All-Seeing Eye._ Her father even spoke to Jenna in person to apologize for the article and assure her that the majority of the Wizarding population did not view Muggles in that way.

Not that it did anything to stop the flow of hate mail to Jenna, or help her and Artimus resolve their problems.

Given all that, she told her parents about her plan to deal with Ulysses Rand.

"Do whatever you have to do," her father told her without hesitation. "He's gotten away with too much in his miserable life. He's not going to get away with what he did to Artimus."

Rosa took one final breath and clenched her fists. _Here I come, you son-of-a-bitch._

She stomped inside the store.

"Welcome to Rand's Realm of Magical Necessities," said the portrait of a stout wizard with a neatly trimmed gray beard and expensive burgundy robes. "If you have any questions regarding our -"

"Aw, shut up!" She scowled at the portrait. The wizard inside it - Gordon Rand, according to the placard – widened his eyes in shock. He opened his mouth, but seemed to have trouble speaking.

Rosa ignored the portrait and marched down one of the aisles. Customers caught sight of her, and her auror badge, and gave her a wide berth. When she reached the twisty staircase at the back of the store, she started up, her feet pounding on each step.

"Excuse me?"

"What?" Rosa glared down at a round, middle-age witch in navy blue robes with red sequins, the standard "uniform" of employees at Rand's Realm of Magical Necessities.

The witch trembled slightly. "Um, you . . . you can't go up there. That's where -"

"I know. That's where your scum-sucking boss has his office."

The witch's jaw dropped in shock.

Rosa continued. "I'm an auror, this is auror's business, and I'm going up."

She went up the rest of the way, never once looking back at the witch. Rosa stomped down the hallway, her fiery eyes locked on the door of Ulysses Rand's office. She crushed the handle and pushed the door open so hard it hit the wall with a bang.

"Rand! You've got -" The sight before her shocked her into silence.

A slender blond witch with clear skin sat on Ulysses Rand's lap, kissing him around his left ear.

She quickly recognized her. Marla Karsberg, now Marla Rand, the latest wife of Ulysses Rand. A witch only three years older than Rosa. And Marla had been . . . with Artimus' dad!

_Oh Merlin' beard, I'm gonna throw up._

"What's the meaning of this!" Rand roared. "How dare you barge into my office?"

Rosa shoved the horrible image of a witch in her mid-twenties making out with a man in his mid-sixties out her mind and focused on the task at hand. "We need to talk."

Anger lines dug into Rand's fleshy face. "If you want to talk, then make an appointment. I assure you the Aurors Bureau will hear about your behavior and -"

"Shut up!" Rosa marched up to the desk.

"You can't talk to my husband like that." Indignation laced Marla's voice. "This is Ulysses Rand, the most successful -"

"I came hear to talk to you." She jabbed a finger at Rand. "Not your airhead of a wife."

Marla gasped and whipped her head toward Rand. "Ulysses! You can't let her talk to me like that."

"I agree." He fixed Rosa with a harsh gaze. "I don't care who your parents are, you have no right to storm into my office and insult me and my -"

"I'm conducting a criminal investigation, on you! So yeah, I can storm in here if I want. Now tell your wife to take a hike so we can talk."

Rand scowled, then looked to Marla. He jerked his head toward the door. Marla pouted, then got up from her husband's lap and headed for the door, but not before she gave Rosa a parting glare.

_Yeah. That really intimidates me._

When Marla closed the door, Rand settled back in his seat. "So, what's this nonsense about a criminal investigation?"

Rosa leaned over the desk, nostrils flaring. "After what you did to Artimus at graduation, I didn't think you could sink any lower. How could you say all that crap about Jenna? How could you do that to your own son?"

Rand grunted. "I figured that's why you were here. But it's nothing personal. I have to think about our family's name and reputation, and -"

"Bullcrap!" Rosa slammed a fist on the desk. Rand didn't flinch as she continued. "It's always personal with him. Probably moreso since he struck out on his own. What, is that it? Artimus became successful, and found a great woman to marry, all on his own. Without any help from you. I bet that burns you up inside, doesn't it? He didn't become daddy's little boot licker like Horace or Arcadius. All your insults and bullying, always making him think it was a failure, all it did was push him away."

"It was meant to toughen him up. And it would have worked eventually if you and your idiot cousin and your damn Muggle-born friend hadn't have gotten hold of him and warped his mind. You brought all this on him, not me."

Rosa's jaw dropped. "Are you kidding me? You're blaming _us_ for the crap you spewed in _The All-Seeing Eye _about Jenna and Artimus? I can't believe even you could be that arrogant."

"I would never have had to say those things if you had just stayed away from my son at Salem, let him work in the family business, and marry an acceptable pureblood girl. The public has certain expectations of the Rand family, and I intend to make sure those expectations are maintained."

"Listen to yourself. You're in your sixties, but you sound like a teenager trying to make everyone in school think you're cool."

"I wouldn't expect someone like you to understand how important the reputation of a prominent family like mine is. After all, when the Rands were building this store two-hundred fifty years ago, your family was probably living in mud huts on whatever pissant island they came from."

It took all of Rosa's willpower to keep from whipping out her wand and sending a Battering Spell at Ulysses Rand's fat, ugly face. She drew a slow, furious breath, and glowered at the SOB. "My mother's family is from Cuba, and my father's family is from Puerto Rico, and I'm proud to have roots in both places." She shook her head. "It's never been solely about blood status for you, has it? It all comes down to money. It doesn't matter if the person's a pureblood or a half-blood. It only matters how much money and power they have, and how they can help you. And everyone else in the world is vermin to you."

Rand emitted a sardonic laugh. "Well, you've finally figured out how the world works. You're not as stupid as I thought."

Rosa's scowl intensified. She then glanced over her shoulder, at the door Marla exited through minutes ago. "Of course, most of the Wizarding World would think getting one divorce after another is an unseemly thing for someone from an old, successful family. But I guess it's okay if your new wives are all blond, beautiful and have the intelligence of a rock."

"All of my wives have come from old, wealthy families. Now, I am very busy. So leave my off-"

"I'm not done, Rand. I'm not even close to done. Does the name Patrick Pimmelock mean anything to you?"

Rand stiffened. Moments later, the man seemed to force himself to relax. "Should it?"

"Yeah, it should. I had a talk with him the other day. He told me you came to see him, that you heard about the confrontation he and Artimus had a couple years ago. All it took was fifty gold pieces to get him to give you Jenna and Samantha's files from the Office of Wizarding-Muggle Relations. Heh! Fifty gold pieces. Even when you're bribing people, you're stingy."

"Go ahead and bring it to the Office of Magical Protection and Justice. It will be his word against mine, and we know which one of us will win that argument."

"Funny you should say the word 'word.' Because the words you used in that _All-Seeing Eye_ interview are going to hang you. You knew about Jenna's parents dying. You knew about the kind of apartment she lived in before she met Artimus."

"Which any arbiter will argue that I may have heard those things in passing from any number of Department of Magic associates I have."

Rosa pressed her lips together, remaining silent.

Rand folded his arms on the desk and leaned forward, aiming his gaze at Rosa. "Face it, you stupid little girl. You won't be able to make something this petty stick." He chuckled without humor. "You really thought you could use this to get revenge on me for trying to stop my son from marrying that Muggle?"

"I'm not looking for revenge. I want you to retract what you said about Artimus and Jenna, and I want you to tell people to stop sending hate mail to them. Quite frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if you're having your friends and employees writing a good chunk of them."

"Mere speculation on your part. You'll never be able to prove that, just like you'll never stop me from making sure some poor, dumpy-looking Muggle takes the Rand family name. Now you played your hand and lost. I suggest you get out of my store, now. You do not want to make an enemy out of me."

Rosa matched Rand's steely gaze. "I fought giants and Dementors in the war. Believe me, you don't intimidate me one bit. And Pimmelock isn't the only hand I have."

She reached into robes, stuck her hand into one of her enchanted pockets, and pulled out a thick folder. She let it fall on Rand's desk with a deep _thud._

"What's this?" he asked.

"Just some very interesting reading my cousin and his girlfriend picked up from the Magical Museum of North America. It's the Rand Family Lineage Chart."

Rand's eye narrowed. "What are you doing with this?"

"Well, I didn't think that Artimus was the first Rand to do something unsavory . . . at least, unsavory in your insane mind. So we did some digging and . . .' Rosa opened the folder and flipped through a few pieces of parchment. "Ah, look here. Casimir Rand, a great-great-uncle of yours, I believe. He was exploring the west in the early eighteen hundreds when he met a woman from the Chickasaw Indian Tribe. A Muggle woman, I might add. Stayed in Mississippi with her, had four children. They still have relatives running around today, though none have the last name of Rand. Some because the women took the names of their husbands, of course. But the men . . . hmm, I wonder. Could someone from the Rand family have forced them to change their last names? Make sure that no one knows a Muggle wound up in your family? Especially a Muggle people like you probably think of as some backwoods savage?"

A dark expression fell over Rand's face.

"And good ol' Uncle Casimir isn't the only 'embarrassment' to the Rand family." Rosa flipped through some more pages. "Why here we have a great-grand-nephew of yours from around the turn of the last century. Aeacus Rand. Apparently he liked to explore the Muggle World, especially after having a few drinks in him. And he liked to 'explore' Muggle women. Lots of Muggle women. And on at least three occasions Aeacus didn't take the proper precautions and . . . well, do I really have to spell it out for you?"

Rand just glared at her.

Rosa smirked. "All those illegitimate little Rands running around out there, all from Muggle mothers. Probably none of them rich. Imagine what this would do to your precious family reputation if it got out."

Rand shook with rage. "My family's history is none of your damn business." He reached out and slammed a hand down on the folder, then yelped and drew it back. His face twisted in pain as he shook his hand.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Rosa said. "I put a Stinging Charm on that folder. If anyone except me, Jared or his girlfriend touches it, well, I heard it's like being stung by a hundred wasps. That true?"

Pure hatred radiated from Rand's eyes. "And what do you plan to do with this information?"

"What do you think? I plan to let the world know, show them what a hypocrite you are. You don't want your son marrying a Muggle, but other Rands have been with Muggles before. A lot of people won't like you for that, especially when I throw in the way you treated Artimus all his life."

"And how do you expect to get this information to the public? I can keep it out of _The All-Seeing Eye_, and I have contacts at other periodicals and wireless networks I can force to not run that story."

"Oh yeah, you've got your ins with the press in this country, but not so much in Britain."

Rand cranked an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

"Have you ever heard of _The Quibbler?"_

"I have. An imbecilic rag that prints pure drivel. Only idiots read it."

"Actually, a lot of people read it, especially since they were the ones who broke the story about Lord Voldemort's return and challenged that scumbag's regime after he took over England. Jimmy told me that the owner of _The Quibbler_ is looking to expand his market to America. And Jimmy happens to know the owner's daughter and son-in-law very well. In fact, he asked Luna Lovegood if she would be interested in a story about the Rand family's secret Muggle, ahem, _loving _past. When she heard what you did to Artimus and Jenna, she was more than interested in doing it. And trust me, Luna is not someone you can bribe to keep quiet. She'll show what a heartless hypocrite you are, how you engineered the hate mail campaign against Jenna, how that article is connected to the assault on Samantha Fabrici at Fantimoor. How do you think your customers are going to react when they hear you were responsible for the deboning of a thirteen-year-old girl? How do you think they're going to react when I'm talking to _The Quibbler_ every day about my investigation of Ulysses Rand for receiving sensitive material from the Department of Magic, for harassing a Muggle, and for being responsible for the cursing of a young witch? Maybe I won't be able to nail you on the criminal charges, but I will drag you and your precious reputation through the mud, and I will hit you where it hurts, in your bank vault."

Rand stared at the folder, a stony look on his face. Every once in a while, a nervous tick formed under his right eye. The silence went on for well over a minute.

Finally, he sighed loudly. "What do you want?"

"I want you to retract everything you said about Jenna and Artimus. I want you to stop the hate mail."

"Some of it comes from people I don't know."

"Then stop it from the ones you do know. The rest of it will peter out."

Rand growled and nodded slowly. "Anything else?"

"Yeah. Leave Artimus and Jenna alone . . . forever. I don't want you to send so much as a Thanksgiving card to them. You do that, and no one ever needs to know about the Rand family's Muggle heritage."

Rand's lip curled. He glowered at Rosa, then nodded. "Agreed," he practically hissed.

"Good." Rosa picked up the folder and put it back in her magical pocket. "Get on it now."

She spun around and marched to the door. Just as she opened it, a shout erupted from behind her.

"Fine! Let that damn Muggle have him!" Rand shot out of his chair, waving his arms in fury. "You can all have that worthless waste of skin. I wash my hands of him. Take him. I don't even know what she or any of you see in Artimus. He's pathetic, he's stupid, and he's weak!"

"Artimus is not weak. He's strong."

Rand barked out a laugh. "Ha! How can you seriously say that?"

"You never saw the things he did during the war, or how he brought us all back together after it. Actually, he was strong long before the war began."

"And what makes you say that?"

"The fact he didn't turn out to be a steaming pile of maggot crap like his father."

Rosa slammed the door behind her.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	40. A Test Of Strength

**CHAPTER 40: A TEST OF STRENGTH**

**

* * *

**Rosa approached the door to Artimus and Jenna's apartment, wanting to feel satisfied about her confrontation earlier in the afternoon with Ulysses Rand. While that asshole certainly deserved what he got, she couldn't bring herself to be happy over it. Not until she knew everything was fine between Artimus and Jenna.

She held her breath and knocked on the door. Several seconds passed before Artimus answered.

"Hi, Rosa."

"Hey." She studied his face. What she saw made her chest tighten with worry.

Artimus wasn't smiling. His face, his eyes, all conveyed a sullen mood. Obviously things remained unresolved between him and Jenna.

_Dammit._

"Um . . . so how are you doing?" She winced, scolding herself for asking what had to be a stupid question.

Artimus groaned and shrugged his shoulders. "I'm managing." He stepped aside to let her in. She spotted Jenna at the kitchen table, poking at her dinner with her fork before looking up at her.

"Hey, Rosa." Jenna offered her a weak smile.

"Hi. I just wanted to come by and let you know I talked with your father." Rosa looked at Artimus before relating the story of her confrontation with the bastard. She watched Artimus' eyes brighten when she talked about the promise Ulysses Rand made to retract his statements about Jenna, to make the hate mail stop, and to leave them alone forever.

"That's . . . that's great." Artimus' shoulders rose and fell with excited breaths. "I . . . I can't believe you actually made my father back down. I don't think anyone's ever done that. Thank . . . Thank you. Thank you so much."

He wrapped up Rosa in a hug.

"Come on." Rosa patted Artimus' back. "You know I'd do anything for you guys."

When Artimus released her, he turned back to his fiancé. "Did you hear that, Jenna? It's going to be all right. My father won't ever bother us again. You don't have to worry."

Jenna stared at him in silence, her lips forming a thin line. "Are you sure about that?"

A puzzled look came over Artimus' face. "What do you mean? You heard what Rosa said. He's going to tell everyone he was wrong in what he said about you. He's going to put an end to the hate mail. Everything's fine."

"For now."

The lines of confusion etched deeper into Artimus' face. "I don't understand. What's wrong? You should be happy about this."

Jenna looked away and took a deep breath. She then returned her gaze to Artimus. "Maybe your father won't bother us any more, but he's not the only bigot out there. What if they keep sending hate mail, or harass us or vandalize our apartment, or . . . or what if they attack Samantha again?"

"But my father is going to tell them to stop. And since the end of the war, the Wizarding World has become more tolerant of Muggles and Muggle-borns, especially with all of Secretary Infante's initiatives."

"Well in the Muggle World, it's been forty years since the civil rights movement. We may not have the problems with racism we did back in the Fifties or Sixties, but there are still racists, and they still attack and kill people just because of their skin color. I don't . . . I don't want that happening to Sam."

Rosa's heart pounded as she watched the color drain from Artimus' face. Her eyes flickered over to Jenna. The other girl's jaw quivered. Tears glistened in her eyes.

"What . . . What are you saying?" Artimus asked in a hollow voice.

Jenna opened her mouth, but seemed to have trouble speaking.

Dread welled up within Rosa. Was Jenna about to . . .

_No. No, no, no. No way._

Jenna drew a ragged breath. Rosa sensed Artimus' fiancé had finally found her voice.

"Jenna," Rosa blurted, striding over to the table. "C'mon, let's talk."

"Rosa, I . . ."

"Jenna, please. Please just hear me out."

Jenna tightened her jaw and stared at the table for several seconds. Sighing, she nodded and rose from her chair.

Rosa put a hand on her back and guided her toward the bedroom. She turned to Artimus and gave him a reassuring smile. It didn't seem to help as his face grew even paler.

Once inside the bedroom, Rosa closed the door and cast a Muffling Charm.

Jenna took a couple ragged breaths, as though fighting off sobs. "I've tried, you know. I've really tried to accept everything about this world. To be part of it with Artimus and Samantha and the rest of you. But after this, after seeing how many people hate me just because I'm a Muggle who wants to marry a wizard . . ."

"That's going to stop, Jenna," Rosa assured her. "Artimus' father didn't come right out and say it, but most of that hate mail you got came from his friends and employees. After today, he'll make sure they stop."

"Most, Rosa. You said most, not all. There are still going to be people out there who hate me, who'll hate Sam because she's my sister, who may want to hurt her . . . us."

"You said it yourself. Even after all the progress Muggle America made when it came to race relations, there are still morons out there who hate people solely because of their skin color."

"But none of them have ever targeted me, or my sister. And they can do things worse than groups like the KKK or the Skinheads can even imagine. What can I do against them?"

"That's why there are people like me," Rosa said. "To protect people like you and Samantha from people like that." At least Rosa assumed these KKK and Skinhead people were bad. If Jimmy had ever mentioned them to her before, she couldn't remember.

"You can't be around us Twenty-Four/Seven." Jenna pressed her hands against the sides of her skull. "This is what I was worried about."

"What?" Rosa gave her a quizzical look.

"That something bad like this would happen. Artimus told me there were people in the Wizarding World who didn't like Muggles and Muggle-borns. I should have . . . I never should have let Sam . . ."

Rosa swallowed, worry slithering through her. "Jenna, don't say what I think you're going to say. Don't let what happened these past few days ruin the life you built in our world with Artimus."

"I don't want it to. But with these kind of people out there, what . . . what am I supposed to do?"

"You don't let them win. You stand up to them."

"How can I do that? I can't do one lick of magic."

"That doesn't matter. All you have to do is dig in your heels, and not be intimidated by a bunch of stupid jagoffs."

"But I'm scared. Not just for me, but for Sam."

"I know that. But if you give in to these bastards, you give them power. You let them dictate how things are in the Wizarding World. After what I saw from the Death Eaters during the war, I know one thing for certain. You can't let people like that win."

"They're wizards. I'm not."

"It doesn't matter if you can do magic or not. You just -"

"I'm not strong like you!"

Rosa's mouth was agape. She stared in stunned silence at Jenna. It took several seconds for her to find her voice again. "What?"

Jenna's jaw trembled. She wiped tears from her eyes before speaking. "It's easy for you to say stuff like that. You're a war hero. You're an auror. You go after bad witches and wizards all the time. Who am I? I'm just some Muggle."

Tears slid down Jenna's cheeks.

Rosa's face tightened. She stepped closer to Jenna. "There is nothing _just_ about you, Jenna. You're one of the most wonderful, caring people I've ever met. And if you don't think you're strong, you're wrong. You were barely of age for a Muggle when your parents died. Look how hard you worked, and how much you sacrificed, to take care of your sister. You don't think that took strength? And look at all you did for me and my family. If it wasn't for you, Esteban and Oriana would probably still be separated, I'd probably still not be getting along with my parents, and Jimmy would probably still be a drunk. You helped us, Jenna, all of us. And it took strength to say some of the things you said to us."

Rosa put a gentle hand on Jenna's shoulder. "You are strong. You're strong enough to not be scared into leaving Artimus, and going ahead with your wedding."

Jenna sniffled. "I want to. I want to marry Artimus. I love him so much. But . . . but when I think of Samantha . . ."

"And what do you think Sam would say about all this?"

Jenna bit her lip, then shook her head. "She's too young . . ."

"She's going to be a Fourth Year student at Fantimoor in a few months. And whatever you decide is going to affect her life as much as it will yours. You know her better than anyone. What do you think she'd say about this?"

Jenna stared at the carpet, taking slow breaths. The veins in her neck stuck out as she looked back up at Rosa, a shaky smile on her face. "The . . . The night before Samantha left for her Third Year, we were talking about the wedding, and . . ." She briefly chuckled. "And I was talking about what I wanted my gown to look like, and how many children we might want and what we might call them. I remember Sam looked at me and smiled. She didn't say anything. She just smiled. So I asked, 'What?' And you know what she said?"

"What?"

"She . . ." Her jaw trembled. "She said this was the happiest she'd ever seen me since . . . since our parents died. And . . . And that once I married Artimus, it'd be like having a real family again."

Jenna convulsed. Sobs exploded from her. Rosa wrapped her arms around her and pulled her close. Neither woman spoke for a long time.

"You must think I'm a terrible person." Jenna regained her voice.

"What are you talking about?"

"I know how much you care about Artimus. And . . . And things haven't been easy on him, on us, the last few days. He's been so depressed over all this, and . . . and I haven't helped. I didn't . . . I didn't mean to hurt him."

Rosa's lips tightened. She thought back more than six years ago, when Rana had broken up with Jimmy, and how miserable he had been. It simultaneously tore up her heart and made her angry. She had taken out that anger on Rana, who had been a friend since before they even started at Salem. Throughout the rest of her Seventh Year, Rosa sent death glares at the other girl every chance she got, to the point Rana usually turned and headed in the opposite direction whenever she saw her coming.

It was only since the end of the war that Rosa realized how stupid, how immature she had been. She never once considered that Rana had been just as heartbroken as Jimmy.

Worst of all, Rana's death during the war made it impossible to apologize to her.

"I don't think you're terrible." She hugged Jenna tighter. "I just think you're scared and worried. I know how much Artimus means to you, and I know how much Samantha means to you. And I want you to know that if you or Sam ever have any problems like this again, you don't have to face them alone. You have Artimus to go to, and me, and Jared and Tasanee, and Jimmy and Mireet, and my parents and my Uncle Irving. You're my friend . . . our friend, Jenna. You're more than a friend. You're family. And we'll do everything we can to look out for you and Samantha and Art. I'd make an Unbreakable Vow on that."

"Thank you," Jenna said in a strained voice.

"Now, you have a very, very important question to ask yourself."

"What?"

"What do you think the rest of your life will be without Artimus in it, and do you want that life?"

Five minutes later, once Jenna regained her composure, they exited the bedroom. Artimus sat in one of the living room chairs, hunched over, fingers tightly intertwined. When he saw the two women appear, he jumped to his feet, a nervous aura surrounding him.

Slowly, Jenna walked up to him.

"Ar . . . Artimus." She took hold of one of his hands. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for the way I've been acting. I'm sorry for upsetting you, and making you wonder if . . . if I still wanted to marry you."

She drew a slow breath. "I do. I do want to marry you. I don't care what anyone thinks. Those idiots who don't want this to happen, tough. I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

Artimus visibly swallowed. He slipped his hand out of Jenna's and hugged her. "I love you, too. And I forgive you." He kissed the top of her head twice. "I swear I'll do everything I can to take care of you and Sam. I'll never let my father or those bigots come between us ever."

Jenna looked up at him and smiled. Artimus smiled back and kissed her on the lips.

A very long kiss on the lips.

Rosa glanced away, holding her breath and fighting to keep tears from spilling out of her eyes. When she looked back at the couple, their lips finally separated, only to come back together seconds later.

_I think I'd better go._

She quietly backed up toward the door.

Artimus caught sight of her. Still hugging Jenna, he said, "Thank you," to Rosa. Jenna looked over her shoulder and also thanked her.

"You're welcome. I'll see you later."

Rosa got to the door, opened it, then paused. She glanced behind her again, seeing Artimus and Jenna locked in a loving embrace.

A brief flicker of jealousy went through her. She scolded herself for it. She should be happy for her friends. Heck, she helped save their relationship.

But the flicker came again. She then realized she couldn't call the feeling jealousy. More like . . . desire.

Desire to have a man she loved the same way Jenna loved Artimus.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	41. First And Next

**CHAPTER 41: FIRST AND NEXT**

**

* * *

**_LOCATION: Salem Witches Institute, Salem, Massachusetts, USA._

_TIME FRAME: Two years before the events of "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone"_

_

* * *

_

Ten-year-old Jimmy O'Bannon doubted he would be this excited to do a report if he had been back at his old Muggle elementary school. But the teachers at that school would never make him do a report about giants. Real giants!

_This is so cool._ He couldn't wait for his teachers here at Salem to give him reports about dragons and werewolves and trolls and all the other monsters he thought were make believe until a couple months ago. He wanted to learn what they were really like.

Jimmy smiled as he walked across the rolling green lawn, a cool breeze blowing around him. He'd been here over a month and the whole Wizarding World was still so awesome. He still couldn't believe he'd made a feather float with just a wave of a wand and actually flown on a broom. Plus he'd already made some really good friends. Jared, by far, was his best friend. Then there was Rana Rollingsworth, who loved Quidditch as much as he loved hockey. Gregory Lancemore was pretty cool, and Jimmy found it funny how he always liked to talk about girls. He also got along with Ursa Oberlin, Darius Forten and Mario Hernandez. Even Jared's cousin, Rosa, had grown on him. She still couldn't stop bragging about what a great auror she was going to be, but she had also offered to help him improve his spellwork in Defense Against the Dark Arts class, so she couldn't be all bad.

Jimmy stared at the colonial-style library building in the distance. He picked up his pace, anxious to read up all he could about giants. Rosa even recommended a book to him, about some guy named Kensington Kadermass. The wizard was apparently a big hero in a war a hundred years ago against giants in the Adirondack Mountains. Jimmy still couldn't believe it. How could magical people fight these big wars against giants and evil wizards like Hister and Voldemort without the Muggle World knowing anything about it? Surely someone would have noticed –

A cry of pain caught his attention. Jimmy snapped his head right, toward a fat bush with pink flowers near the trail leading into the woods. Another cry rose from behind it, followed by laughter.

"Stop. Please stop," a shaky voice begged.

"Shut up, rich boy," said another voice.

"Yeah!" bellowed a third voice. "You think you're better than us 'cause your dad has all that money? You're just a little punk. And here's what we do to little punks."

Jimmy heard the _zap_ of a spell, then a painful cry.

Then laughter. Evil laughter.

He started walking again, stopping when he could peer around the bush. What he saw sent a jolt through his stomach.

Two kids who looked old enough to be Third Years stood over a gangly, brown-haired boy, who lay curled up and trembling. The kid on the ground had to be a First Year.

The bigger of the two bullies, who had a thick, round body and dark hair, sent a stream of little stingers out the tip of his wand. They struck the First Year in the back. He screamed and sobbed. The bully and his friend, a tall, lean kid with sandy hair, both laughed.

Jimmy stood frozen. Memories sprang up. Memories from over two years ago, when he had joined his friends in beating up poor Timmy Warren. Timmy had pleaded with them to stop, but they hadn't. Jimmy hadn't, even though, deep down, he knew what he was doing was wrong.

He hated bullies ever since. Sometimes, he even hated himself for what he did. Yeah, he'd come to Timmy's defense a few days later, and got beat up for it. But he should have done that the first time around.

"What are you looking at?"

The threatening voice broke through Jimmy's thoughts. His eyes widened with fear when he saw the bigger bully glaring at him.

"Beat it." He jerked his thumb to the side. "Unless you want some, too."

The bullies turned away from him, the taller one pressing his foot against the First Year's head and smushing his face into the ground. When he lifted his foot, the First Year started crying.

Two other emotions mixed inside Jimmy. Anger, anger at these stupid bullies. And sympathy, sympathy for the kid they were beating on.

_Somebody has to stop this._

He thought about going to get a teacher. But how long would that take? How many punches and kicks and hexes would these two give that poor kid?

_I should do something._ But what? There were two of them, both bigger than him. Jimmy thought about his wand, but the only defensive spell he'd been taught so far was a Jelly-Leg Jinx, and he hadn't done it very well in class.

The taller bully stomped on the First Year's hand. The kid wailed and clutched his injured fingers. The loud sobs drilled into Jimmy and struck something deep inside him. His anger exploded. His eyes narrowed and his fists clenched.

The heck with a wand.

He took off running. His legs pumped furiously, his eyes locked on the bigger bully. The boy aimed his wand at the sobbing First Year.

Jimmy lowered his shoulder and plowed into the bully. Both of them fell to the ground. The bully rolled onto his back.

"What the he-"

Jimmy leapt on him and drove a fist into the bully's face. He hit him again and again, never letting up, just like the guys on the Boston Bruins when they got into a fight.

"Hey! Get . . . Get off him!"

The taller bully started over to him.

Jimmy swung around toward him, face twisted. "You want some, moron? Huh? C'mon! I'll kick your butt, too!"

The taller bully just gaped at him. Then, to Jimmy's surprise, he turned and ran away.

"Geddoff me!" The bigger bully shoved Jimmy away. He scrambled to his feet and watched the older kid crawling away quickly on all fours.

"You're crazy, man! You're crazy!"

Jimmy scowled. He ran up behind the bully and kicked him right in the butt. The older boy's arms flew out to his sides as he hit the ground face first.

Jimmy smiled. That kick would have made Charlie Baumann from the New England Patriots proud.

The bully picked himself up, took one look at Jimmy, and sprinted away.

"That's right!" Jimmy shouted. "Get outta here!"

He took several deep, quick breaths, energy blazing through him. Jeez, it felt like he wanted to keep fighting, and never stop. For a second, he considered going after the bully. Both bullies.

But the energy started to fade. His breathing returned to normal. Then he realized something.

_The kid._

He spun around. The First Year laid on his side, staring up at him. Tear streaks cut through the dirt on his narrow face.

"Um . . . you okay?" Jimmy asked.

The kid seemed to hesitate. Several seconds passed before he nodded. "Uh-huh."

Jimmy stepped over to him and reached out his hand. The First Year just stared at it.

"C'mon. I'll help you up."

The First Year continued staring at Jimmy's hand. Finally, he grasped it. Jimmy grunted and pulled the skinny boy to his feet.

"Um . . . um, thanks."

"No problem. You sure you're okay?"

The First Year grimaced. "I . . . I don't know. I hurt everywhere." He sniffled.

"Um . . . maybe we should go see the school nurse."

The First Year said nothing. His eyes scanned the grass around them.

"C'mon." Jimmy gently grasped the boy's arm and guided him in the direction of the infirmary.

"Why . . . why are you helping me?" the boy asked.

"Because . . . um, well, because, you know. It's the right thing to do."

Again the boy lowered his head and stared at the ground. "I'm not used to people helping me. Not my family, especially not people I don't know. Well, there's my one brother, Hector. He's all right."

Jimmy frowned, wondering what sort of family this kid came from that wouldn't help him. He knew if he had a problem, he could always go to his parents.

"By the way, my name's Jimmy. Jimmy O'Bannon."

"I'm Artimus Rand."

Jimmy bit his lip. He remembered that last name. Rand, as in Ulysses Rand, that old dipstick who, along with Merak Mather's dad, gave him and his parents a hard time at the wand shop at Milmothryn Market. He also remembered what Jared and his family said about the Rands, how they were snobs who treated anyone who wasn't rich like dirt.

But Artimus didn't seem that way. Heck, he looked really shy. Jimmy even recalled briefly seeing him at Australius' shop, how the kid looked afraid to say a word.

_But Jared and his parents know a lot more about the Wizarding World than me. What if they're right, and Artimus is just like his dad?_

Again, he just didn't sense that from this kid.

The two First Years approached a long, one-story chalk white colonial-style building with red trim, the Salem Witches Institute infirmary.

"Well, here we are," Jimmy said. "I'm sure Nurse Gillwick will fix you up good."

"Um . . . thanks. You're . . . you're the first person I met here who's done anything to help me."

Pity formed inside Jimmy. He fought it down and smiled at Artimus. "No problem. Maybe I can do it again sometime."

**XXXXX**

_LOCATION: Second Presbyterian Church, Fairfax, Virginia, USA_

_TIME FRAME: Present Day_

_

* * *

_

Jimmy O'Bannon's stomach flipped over again and again. He couldn't understand why he felt so nervous. He wasn't the one getting married.

He glanced over at Artimus, decked out in dark formal robes. His skin had turned a ghostly pale. Worry swept through O'Bannon. He wondered if this was the primary job of the best man at a wedding, to make sure the groom doesn't faint.

_Groom. Artimus is the groom._ Part of him still couldn't believe it. He thought back to his first meeting with Artimus – _my God, was it twelve years ago already?_ He had been a scared, shy, beaten little boy. Yet here he stood next to him, the first of their quartet to be married.

O'Bannon glanced to his left, taking in the rest of the groom's party. Jared, Esteban, and Ron Weasley. O'Bannon was glad the Weasley family could all make it over from England for this. The quartet and the Weasleys had become very close during the battle with the altered Chupacabra, and that friendship had endured through the years.

Remorse crept into his joyous feelings, however. He bit his lip, realizing there was one person who should be standing up here, who should probably have been best man instead of him.

Hector Rand.

O'Bannon sighed to himself. His jaw clenched as he thought back to that day when the war exploded in America. An _Avada Kedavra_ came out of nowhere, and just like that, Hector was dead. The only member of the Rand family that had treated Artimus decently. He couldn't help but wonder if Hector's absence weighed on Artimus' mind.

_How could it not?_

He glanced up at the church's high, slanted ceiling with its light brown wooden panels. His eyes locked on the skylight that showed a clear, sunny day. A smile crossed his lips. He imagined Hector looking down from Heaven at all of them, no doubt proud of his younger brother.

Organ music filled the church.

_This is it._

The audience rose to their feet. O'Bannon glanced at Artimus and noticed his friend visibly shiver. He gave the groom a reassuring jab to the side. Artimus didn't even acknowledge it. His wide eyes focused on the approaching bridesmaids, Mireet and two women from Jenna's nursing classes, Brigit and Chloe he remembered their names. All three wore pink gowns. Next came Rosa, the maid of honor, followed by Samantha, carrying the rings on a small pillow.

O'Bannon heard Artimus gasp when Jenna appeared, being led down the aisle by Mr. Infante. She looked beautiful, glowing, in fact, in her flowing white wedding dress. Through her thin veil she wore a bright, albeit nervous, smile.

He glanced over at the round, balding minister, who also smiled as the bride approached. Thanks to his connections with the Office of Wizarding-Muggle Relations, Artimus found a minister whose brother and sister were Muggle-borns, though he did not get the magical gene himself. Since Jenna's friends from school did not know anything about the Wizarding World, the Infantes placed Perception Altering Charms around the church and the reception hall to make them believe they attended a normal Muggle wedding.

"Dearly beloved," the minister began. "We are gathered here today . . ."

Tingles of excitement and nervousness swept through O'Bannon. So did a slew of memories. Their seven years together at Salem. Graduation Day, and the way friggin' Ulysses Rand embarrassed Artimus. Fighting Death Eaters in Ovenderburg. Their two missions to England. Their nine months in the Appalachians. The Battle of Helghorst Island. Somehow they had survived all that. Somehow they had put their lives back together after losing so much, and now they stood in a Muggle church, witnessing what had to be the happiest day in the life of one of his best friends.

"Do you, Artimus, take Jenna, to be your lawfully wedded wife . . ."

Dread gnawed the back of O'Bannon's mind. His eyes flickered around the church. He half-expected a dragon to smash through the church, guided by Ulysses Rand, to ruin this wedding. He wouldn't put something like that past the bastard.

No dragon appeared, thankfully. All he heard was Artimus speak the words, "I do."

"Jenna, do you take Artimus to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in good times and bad, for rich or for poor, in sickness and in health, until death do you part."

"I do."

"Then by power vested in me, and before the eyes of God, I pronounce you, Artimus and Jenna Rand, man and wife."

Artimus lifted Jenna's veil and planted a long kiss on his fiancé's – _no, wife's – _lips.

The audience applauded. Jenna turned around and hugged Rosa. O'Bannon clasped Art's hand and gave him a one-armed hug, slapping him on the back.

"Congratulations, man."

"Th-Thanks. Thanks. I can't . . . I can't believe it."

"Believe it, man." Jared gripped Artimus' shoulders and shook him. "You're married!"

The organ music started up again. Artimus and Jenna walked back down the aisle. More applause echoed through the church. O'Bannon noticed his mother, Mrs. Infante, and Oriana all wiping their eyes with tissues. He then glanced over at the bridesmaids and saw Mireet and Rosa talking, his girlfriend's eyes noticeably glistening. She caught his gaze and gave him a beaming smile. O'Bannon smiled back, his heart thumping. Merlin's beard, she looked so beautiful, the way that pink gown hugged her tall frame, the way her blond hair sat piled on her head, with one curled, loose strand dangling down each cheek.

_What did I do to deserve a woman like her?_

He took a deep breath and looked back at Artimus and Jenna, who had now reached the doors leading to the outside. His chest tightened as he continued to stare at the newly married couple. Seconds later, his eyes flickered over to Mireet, then back to Artimus and Jenna.

Then he started to wonder . . .

**XXXXX**

"All right, guys. Start praying for me."

O'Bannon's brow furrowed as he turned around to face Jared. Standing around them were George Weasley, Ron Weasley and Harry Potter, who all gave the stocky, curly-haired young man puzzled looks.

"What do you mean by that?" asked Ron.

Jared's face scrunched up, as though he couldn't believe Ron's question. "What do you mean, what do I mean? Look what's coming up." He pointed to the middle of the dance floor at the VFW hall, where Jenna stood, clutching her bouquet. She checked over her shoulder and hollered, "C'mon, girls! You don't wanna miss out on this, do ya?"

Mireet, Rosa, Tasanee, Ginny, Hermione and the rest of the unmarried women at the reception crowded together about ten feet behind the bride, every one of them grinning.

"Hey, man," Jared said. "Muggle World or Wizarding World, the girl who catches the bouquet is supposed to be the next one to get married. Which means if Tasanee catches it, I'm doomed."

Ron's eyes widened. "To hell with you then, mate. Everybody pray for me that Hermione doesn't catch it."

"At least Harry here doesn't have to worry." George slapped him on the shoulder. "He already popped the question to my sweet little sister, so he's safe . . . in a manner of speaking."

"Aw, quit being a bunch of wusses." O'Bannon shook his head.

"Yeah, you say that now," Jared replied. "Let's see what you say if Mireet catches it."

Before O'Bannon had the chance to respond, Jenna called out. "Okay! Here we go!"

She flung the bouquet over her shoulder. Several women squealed. Arms shot up in the air. Rosa snatched at the tightly-packed flowers. They tipped off her fingers . . .

. . . and right into Mireet's hands! The French witch held up the bouquet with a triumphant smile.

Jared and George howled with laughter and pounded O'Bannon on the shoulders and back.

"Enjoy your freedom, buddy." A wicked grin crossed Jared's lips. "You ain't gonna have it for much longer."

"Yeah, you're a friggin' riot." O'Bannon gave him a dismissive wave and looked back out at the dance floor. Both Rosa and Jenna hugged Mireet. The French witch then looked over to him, smiling wide as she wiggled the bouquet in front of her.

O'Bannon gave her a thumbs-up. His heartbeat picked up as he recalled his thoughts back at the church, just after Artimus and Jenna officially become husband and wife.

Music blared through the hall, an energetic beat, one O'Bannon recognized as a song by some wizarding band. All the girls in the dance floor screamed in delight and started dancing.

"Why do girls do that?" Ron canted his head at the small gathering of Muggles and witches on the dance floor. "I mean, scream like that when they're all together."

"Hey, we guys scream when we're together," O'Bannon answered. "It's just there's almost always a Quidditch game or a hockey game in front of us when we do it."

"Hey, guys."

Everyone turned around to find Artimus had joined them. Their newly-married friend wore a nervous smile, his eyes darting from one person to the other.

"Um, so, are you having a good time?" he asked.

"'Course we're having a good time, mate," George told him. "We've got good food, good drink, good music and good friends. What's there not to enjoy?"

"Good, good. I just, well, I just want to make sure everything's going well."

"Will you relax, man?" Jared gave Artimus a light punch to the shoulder. "Just look around. Everyone's having a blast. And so should you. Now go out there and start dancing with that pretty, new wife of yours."

Artimus gazed past them to the dance floor, where the women jumped and gyrated enthusiastically. He blinked a couple times. "My wife. Merlin's beard, part of me still doesn't believe it. I never thought . . ." Artimus tightened his lips for a moment. "It's like with Jenna and Samantha, I feel like I finally have a real family."

"That you do, man." Jared clamped Artimus' shoulder. "And it's a family that won't treat you like crap."

Artimus emitted a soft chuckle. "Thanks, Jared."

Jared nodded and slapped him on the shoulder.

"Hi, Artimus." O'Bannon's mother approached, holding a wine glass. He stiffened, his focus on the red liquid inside.

_Go get one. Just one. It's a celebration._

_Shut up!_

He pushed down the damn urge as he watched his mother put an arm around Artimus. "Are you having a good time, honey?"

"Yes, yes I am, Mrs. O'Bannon. Thank you. What about you? Was the food all right? Are you enjoying yourself? Is there anything you need?"

Mom laughed softly. "Artimus, I'm fine. We're all fine and we're all enjoying ourselves."

"Sorry, Mrs. O'Bannon," George said. "He's been this way the entire time. He keeps this up I'm going to cast an Imperius Curse on him and make him have a good time."

Everyone in the group laughed, including Artimus.

"Artimus," a familiar voice called out. O'Bannon looked past his mother and Artimus. He swallowed, glanced back at Mom, then back at the approaching witch.

Mrs. Infante put a hand on Art's back. "Time to stop hanging around the guys," she said with a smile. "You need to be out there dancing with your wife, and celebrating your wedding day."

"You're just reinforcing what we've been telling him, Mrs. Infante," said George.

"Well apparently you're not doing a very good job of telling him. Artimus, go. Dance with your wife." She gave him a gentle push to the back.

Artimus took three steps when Jared blurted, "Women telling you what to do all the time. Welcome to the rest of your life, buddy." He chuckled to himself.

Mrs. Infante reached over and whacked him upside the head.

"Ow!" Jared rubbed the back of his skull. "Da'hell was that for, Aunt Adelaide?"

"You really have to ask?"

O'Bannon started to laugh, then stifled it when he noticed Rosa's mother and his mother make eye contact. Both women looked briefly at one another, then at the floor. Neither spoke.

Anxiety crept through O'Bannon. This was the first time these two had been around each other since that meltdown last year when Mom ripped into Mrs. Infante for involving him in the war while he was still in school.

Jared, he figured, must have sensed the tension as well. He cleared his throat. "Um, speaking of dancing with our significant others, why don't we go out there and do the same."

"Can't." George shook his head. "I'm currently without one."

"Then how about dance with your ex-significant other," Harry suggested. "You and Rosa are friends again, right?"

The men headed toward the dance floor, though O'Bannon lagged behind. He stopped at the next table over, pretending to adjust something on his dress robes, straining his ears to listen to what Mom and Mrs. Infante might say.

_Please don't fight. Not here._

He doubted they would. He couldn't imagine either of them doing anything to ruin Artimus and Jenna's wedding. But given how furious Mom had been and Mrs. Infante . . .

_Please._

"It was a nice ceremony, wasn't it?" Mrs. Infante said tentatively.

"Um, yes. Yes, it was. Um . . . Jenna looked beautiful."

"She did, didn't she?" Mrs. Infante nodded.

Both women stared at something on the floor. The silence dragged on, and on.

_Dammit, will you just . . ._

"Jimmy and Mireet told me what you and your family did for Artimus," Mom said. "That was . . . really good of you."

"The thanks really go to Rosa. She's the one who confronted that stinking louse and got him to leave Artimus and Jenna alone."

"I know, but still you told her it was okay to do that. Artimus' father has a lot of influence in your world. He could have made life difficult for you."

Mrs. Infante shrugged. "I've been an auror for over twenty-five years. I've dealt with wizards a lot worse than Ulysses Rand. Maybe there was a risk to my job for giving Rosa my blessing to go after him, but for Artimus, it's a risk I'd gladly take. The boy's like family to me. Just like . . . just like Jimmy."

More silence, more avoiding eye contact.

"I, um . . ." Mom began. "When you were over my house the last time and I . . . well, after all that, Jimmy kept asking Douglas and me to forgive you. When I wouldn't, when I told him it wasn't that easy, he told me about how tough it was to have his friends in England forgive him for leaving the Wizarding World. He mentioned how bad he felt because of what that one girl, Angelina, had done."

Mom drew a slow breath. "I was . . . pretty harsh on you that day."

Mrs. Infante frowned. "Maybe I deserved it. It was your son we were talking about. As a mother myself, I can understand why you'd be so mad at me."

Mom gave a barely perceptible nod. "I was. But the past few months I've been thinking about all the stories Jimmy told me about last summer, all that anger and hate he encountered, what it did to people who had been his friends and . . . I don't want that to happen to me."

Mom turned to face Mrs. Infante. "You and Cesario and Irving and . . . Liana helped my family so much. Hell, you saved our lives during the war, taking Douglas and me to Canada, keeping us safe from the Death Eaters. I don't know how we can ever thank you properly for that."

"You don't have to. You and Douglas are our friends . . . or you were."

Silence hung between the two for several seconds. "I like us to be friends again, Adelaide. I really would."

Mrs. Infante bit her lip for a moment. "I'd like that two, Ellen."

Elation shot through O'Bannon as he watched Mom and Mrs. Infante hug. He felt his throat tighten. A tear stung his eye, but he fought back the urge to cry . . . barely.

A surprised gasp came from behind him. He turned and found Mireet standing a few feet away, a hand over her heart, staring at his mother and Mrs. Infante, who continued to hug.

"They have made up?" she asked.

"Yup."

"That is wonderful." Mireet stepped over to O'Bannon, who slid an arm around her waist. He stood there watching as both women released each other. Mom went for a tissue and dabbed her eyes, but still smiled at Mrs. Infante, whose eyes also appeared watery.

A smile grew across his face. "It kinda feels like everything's back to normal, doesn't it?"

"I believe things are better than normal." Mireet turned back to the dance floor. O'Bannon followed her gaze to Artimus and Jenna, who had their arms around one another as a slow song began, this one a Muggle song with a rather soulful saxophone. He quickly recognized it. Edwin McCain's "I'll Be."

"So." Mireet pivoted around to face him. "What would you say to a dance with a beautiful French witch?"

"I'd say cool. Now if you can find me a beautiful French witch, I'll be set."

Mireet's jaw dropped in faux shock. She slapped him on the chest. "You are incorrigible."

"Yeah, but that's what makes me so loveable."

Mireet smiled and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "Come."

She led him out to the dance floor, Edwin McCain's lyrics resonating in his ears.

_And tell me, that we belong together_

_Dress it up, with the trappings of love_

_I'll be captivated, I'll hang from your lips_

_Instead of the gallows of heartache that hang from above_

They wrapped their arms around one another. Mireet rested her head on his shoulder. O'Bannon closed his eyes, relishing the feel of her soft flesh and hair.

_And I'll be, your cryin' shoulder_

_I'll be, love suicide_

_And I'll be, better when I'm older _

_I'll be, the greatest, fan in your life_

O'Bannon drew slow, contented breaths. The only things that existed in the world at that moment were Mireet in his arms, and the song they danced to.

_And rain falls angry on the tin roof_

_As we lie awake in my bed_

_And you're my survival, you're my living proof_

_My love is alive, and not dead._

"They look so happy together," Mireet said.

"Huh?"

"Jenna and Artimus." She lifted her head. O'Bannon looked to the left and watched the newly minted Mr. and Mrs. Rand slowly dancing, smiling as they held one another.

"We owe them so much." Mireet tightened her embrace. "If Artimus had not convinced me to go to Fort Wayne to talk to you, if it had not been for all their advice, all of us would be living separate lives right now . . . and not good lives, I think."

O'Bannon moaned in agreement. Hard to believe over a year ago he'd been broken man, a six-pack his only solace. A shiver of fear went through him. What would his life be like had Mireet not been with him? How much worse would his alcoholism be? Would he have been able to still play hockey, to be the third leading scorer in the EIHL and a finalist for the league's player of the year award? Would he have any happiness in his life?

_You know the answer to that one._

He ran a hand up and down Mireet's back as Edwin McCain's words struck even deeper.

_And I dropped out, I burned up, I fought my way back from the dead_

_I tuned in, I turned on, remembered the thing that you said_

He stared again at Artimus and Jenna, then looked back at Mireet.

In that moment, he made his decision.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	42. Back Where It Started

**CHAPTER 42: BACK WHERE IT STARTED**

**

* * *

**O'Bannon glanced over at Mireet and paused in the middle of his lecture . . . again. How many times did that make it today? Frustration bubbled inside him. He always prided himself in keeping outside distractions at bay whenever he had an important task to do, whether it be a hockey game or this, another of his Muggle Awareness presentations sponsored by Britain's Ministry of Magic.

Unfortunately, this was one distraction that proved hard to ignore.

He pretended to clear his throat and turned back to the 200 or so witches and wizards gathered in this round, marble-walled auditorium at the Ministry.

"Now, when you look at Apollo Eleven." He gestured to a blown up still photo of the famed space capsule perched on an easel. "It may look like an elaborate trash bin, but consider this. In 1903, the Wright Brothers strapped a propeller to a rickety pair of wings, and powered flight was born. In 1969, just sixty-six years later, Muggles landed two men on the moon and brought them back to Earth safely, and they did it six more times before the whole lunar program was scrubbed."

Stunned gasps and whispers circulated through the audience. While most wizards and witches seemed impressed, he spotted others that weren't. A middle-aged wizard in bland dark robes that marked him as a Ministry bureaucrat had an expression that indicated he found the whole Apollo Program preposterous. Two witches in the fourth row looked bored. A pair of boys who couldn't be older than fifteen, and just had that Slytherin aura around them, sat scowling with their arms folded, as though this was the last place in the world they wanted to be.

O'Bannon kept from frowning. He didn't harbor any illusions that efforts to foster a better understanding of the Muggle World, and consequently Muggle-borns, would succeed with everyone. While pureblood mania had declined since the end of the war, there were still some wizards and witches who clung to it stubbornly, and would probably never let go.

_I may not reach everyone, but I can reach some of them._

"Why did the Muggles stop flying to the Moon?" asked one wizard.

"Politics, budget crunches, lack of leadership and vision. The usual stupid stuff."

A dark-haired witch who had to be a Sixth or Seventh Year Hogwarts student raised her hand. "If the Muggles continued going to the Moon, what do you think they'd be doing up there today?"

"Well, this is all speculation, but the last manned mission to the Moon was in 1972. So we're talking about a gap of over thirty years between now and then. If we stayed the course, who knows? We might have had a lunar colony by now, other nations besides the United States might be participating. Heck, we might have landed people on Mars by now, or we'd be close to doing so."

More astonished gasps and whispers rose from the audience, along with some thought-provoking questions.

"Could those colonies continue growing, like the ones that started up in places like America and Australia hundreds of years ago?"

"What if Muggle-borns pop up on those colonies? How would we get them back to Earth?"

"Will magical folk have to go into space?"

"Would we have to build new wizarding schools on the Moon and on Mars?"

The Q&A over wizards in space took up the rest of O'Bannon's allotted time, meaning he didn't have a chance to get to rest of "The Greatest Muggle Technological Achievements Of The Last Fifty Years," which included the polio vaccine, satellites and DNA fingerprinting. At least he got to talk about things like chemotherapy, computers and cell phones before he got to the space program.

Once the lecture came to an end, he was congratulated by several of the attendees.

"Interesting stuff there, Mister O'Bannon," said one wizard. "I would never imagine Muggles could cram so much information into one of those . . . _come-putter_ things."

"Those _sill funs _things sound cool," said a young witch. "You can use those things anywhere, unlike the Floo. Muggles really are smart."

Each compliment filled him with pride, made him believe he was actually making a difference. He had to smile, wondering if talking about cell phones and the internet could help prevent the type of wars started by lunatics like Voldemort and Hister.

"Ah, Jimmy O'Bannon." A bald, heavyset old wizard with a silver, walrus-like mustache waddled up to him. "So pleased to finally make your acquaintance. I've heard so much about you. Horace Slughorn, Professor of Potions at Hogwarts and Head of Slytherin House."

O'Bannon tensed as he shook Slughorn's hand. Harry Potter had given him a heads up about this guy. Slughorn was likeable enough, but completely obsessed with befriending famous wizards and witches, to the point he latched on to the most talented students at Hogwarts and wormed his way into their good graces.

"Smashing speech, you know," Slughorn told him. "Very informative. I never realized Muggles had done things like fly to the Moon and eradicate a disease without any sort of magic, and I know my fair share of Muggle-borns, including Natasha Glenn. Most successful breeder of winged race horses in Europe, don't you know?"

"No, I didn't know." _Harry was right. This guy really does love to name drop._

"You have a knack for this sort of thing, you know," Slughorn said with a gleam in his eye. "Have you ever considered teaching? I could put a word in for you with Professor McGonagall. You'd make an excellent Muggle Studies teacher."

"Um, thanks, but I'll be back in The States when you guys are in session. The player development people for the Boston Bruins are interested in putting me with one of their minor league teams."

"Oh?" Slughorn's eyes widened. "That sounds splendid. Pity you can't teach at Hogwarts. Still, I imagine professional athletes are as popular in the Muggle World as they are here, like Gwenog Jones from the Holyhead Harpies – personal friend of mine, you know? Hm? I don't believe I ever met anyone who was famous in both the Wizarding _and_ Muggle Worlds."

"Uh-huh." O'Bannon tensed up, uncomfortable at the way Slughorn seemed to be angling for the chance to become his new best friend.

"Well, I shant hold you up any longer. Just wanted to say hello. If you happen by Hogwarts before you return to The States, do drop by my office. We can share a brandy, and I can tell you all sorts of war stories from my teaching days when Harry Potter's parents were my students. Ah, Lily. So brilliant at potions."

O'Bannon gave a non-committal "Uh-huh." He had no intention of dropping by Slughorn's office, and certainly had no intention of drinking brandy with him, or with anyone else. Ever.

More people came up to congratulate him on his lecture. Most strangers, but others friends, including a very pregnant Luna Thomas, who told him he had given her a wonderful idea for an article for _The Quibbler._

"What sort of creatures could be living on the Moon? Dean told me once of a Muggle bedtime story his mother read to him about a cow jumping over the Moon. Could that mean there are, well, Moon Cows?"

O'Bannon managed a polite smile and shrugged. "Uh, who knows?"

Mr. Weasley then bounded up to him, a wide grin plastered on his face.

"Outstanding job, Jimmy! And the attendance? It was unbelievable. This lecture series is going better than I could have ever hoped. And those Moon craft things. And that _Itty-nit._ You have to get me some books on them. I have to know more. Fascinating stuff, that."

The next to see him was Lee Jordan.

"Cool stuff, Jimmy. Those Moon missions sound incredible. I doubt many wizards or witches would cram themselves into those little ships. Those Muggles had some guts."

"Heh! You think they're small? I never even got the chance to show you guys photos of the old Mercury space capsules, the ones they used for the first manned space missions. You could probably fit one of those things into a broom closet at Hogwarts and still have room leftover."

Lee's eyes widened. "No way. Unbelievable." He then raised a finger. "Say, I was wondering if you and Mireet wanted to get together for dinner tonight. I really want you to meet my new girlfriend, Aglaia."

O'Bannon bit his lower lip. "Um, sorry, man. Believe me, any other day, we'd love to but . . . um, well, I kinda have big plans with Mireet tonight."

"Ahhh! Say no more, mate. I understand." Lee gave him what he probably thought was a knowing wink.

_No, Lee, I don't think you do understand. _"But, hey. We'll definitely do it another day, I promise."

"Sure thing." The two shook hands. "Have fun tonight." Lee waggled his eyebrows before walking away.

Ten minutes later, O'Bannon and Mireet were walking through the main hall of the Ministry on their way to the exit.

"Are you all right?" Mireet asked.

"What?" He gave her a puzzled look.

"You seemed distracted during your lecture."

He tensed, feeling the veins stick out from his neck. "Um . . . no. No, I'm fine. Just, you know, one of those days when I didn't have my A-game."

Mireet cranked one of her thin eyebrows. He could tell she didn't buy his excuse, and he sure as hell didn't want to tell her the real reason for his flubs and stutters today.

Not yet, anyway.

"Um, say, how would you feel about a trip up to Hogwarts?"

Mireet's eyes widened in surprise. "Now?"

"Yeah, now."

"Is there any particular reason you wish to go there?"

O'Bannon swallowed. "Uh . . . just feeling nostalgic."

**XXXXX**

The two Apparated back to Diagon Alley, then Flooed from the fireplace at The Leaky Cauldron to the one at The Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade. From there they walked to the main gate at Hogwarts.

"Are you sure we will be able to go inside?" Mireet asked as they neared the tall, wrought iron gate. "School is not in session, and we are no longer students."

"I don't think we'll have a problem," he responded.

Before Mireet could utter another word, the gate swung open. They walked through, and had barely taken four steps onto school grounds when a deep voice to their left boomed, "Ah, Jimmy, Mireet. Welcome back ter Hogwarts."

They both turned to find the enormous, smiling figure of Hagrid approaching them.

"Hey, Hagrid," O'Bannon greeted the half-giant. "How're ya doin'?"

"Oh, as well as can be. Professor McGonagall told me you'd be showing up here 'bout this time."

"What?" Mireet looked over at O'Bannon. "You already planned this visit?"

"Um, yeah."

"So what are we here for?"

Anxiety surged through O'Bannon. He feared his heart would pound right through his chest. "Um, well . . . um, you'll see. Come on." He took her by the hand and led her toward the eastern part of the grounds.

"You two need any help?" Hagrid asked.

"No, we're good. Thanks, Hagrid." He waved to the half-giant, who waved back, gave them a parting smile, then ambled back toward his cabin.

O'Bannon and Mireet walked along the neatly manicured lawn. Worry twisted his stomach into knots. For the past several weeks the scene he'd imagined in his mind always had him doing this with utmost confidence, and the end result always being happy. But now, on the day he was actually going to do it, fear consumed him. What if she didn't . . . how would he react if she said . . .

His stomach clenched. He thought back to that day – _My God, has it been six-and-a-half years already – _when he asked Mireet to the Yule Ball. He couldn't remember ever being so nervous in his entire life.

That was a cakewalk compared to what he had planned today.

He took a staggered breath when they reached their destination. "Well, here we are."

They both stared at a magically frozen pond. On the far end sat a marble structure with a moving photograph of a smiling, red-headed young man.

Fred Weasley.

"The hockey pond," Mireet said in a stunned, hushed voice.

"Um, yup. I just thought . . . um, well, I thought it might be fun to come here, skate around, bring back some memories, you know?"

A smile lit up Mireet's face. "That is a wonderful idea. _Merci, _Jimmy." She kissed him on the cheek. "Oh! But we don't have any skates."

"Well it's a good thing we can use magic, isn't it?" He pulled out his wand and waggled it in front of him.

Mireet emitted an embarrassed giggle.

After transfiguring their shoes into skates, the two got on the ice. They skated in lazy circles, holding hands, Mireet smiling at him. Before long O'Bannon felt his anxiety melt away as he glided along the slick surface. But that's how the ice had always been for him. A sanctuary, a place to escape from all worries, all problems. Even during that dark period when nightmares and alcohol ruled his life, when he took to the ice for a game or for practice, all was good, all was normal. It was only when he left the ice and didn't have hockey to occupy his mind that life held little joy.

_Until Mireet showed up._

He slowed to a halt and glanced over at the marble structure and the photo mounted on it. Fred's image smirked at him.

_Wish me luck, buddy._

"I am enjoying this so much." Mireet beamed.

"I'm glad. It has been a while since we've been here. I just, um, I thought it would be nice to come back. After all, this pond was the place where we first met."

"_Oui. _It does not seem like that long ago, does it?" She chuckled softly. "I remember I was so nervous when I came to your first hockey class. I was so afraid I would embarrass myself."

"Actually, I was afraid I'd embarrass myself, too, mainly by saying something stupid to this incredibly sexy French witch I had the hots for."

"Jimmy." She smiled and blushed, then leaned in and kissed him. He slipped an arm around her waist and held her against him.

"Amazing, isn't it?" O'Bannon scuffed the ice with his right skate blade.

"What?"

"That one little frozen pond in the middle of Scotland could change the course of our lives so much. If I hadn't have come out here and shot some pucks that one day, I never would have gotten Fred and George curious about hockey, there never would have been a Triad, I never would have made all the great friends over here that I did, who the hell knows what would have happened to me during the war . . . and I never would have met you."

Mireet wrapped both arms around him. "Then we owe much to this little pond in the middle of Scotland."

"Yeah. Yeah, we do." O'Bannon took a couple slow breaths, then untangled himself from his girlfriend's embrace. He pivoted on the ice to face her and held one of her hands.

"Mireet. Um . . ." He bit down on his lower lip. The speech he'd been mentally rehearsing for the past month evaporated. _Dammit. _He couldn't screw this up. He had to make this special, memorable, heartfelt.

O'Bannon sucked down a long, loud breath. "Mireet, I don't think I've told you enough how much I appreciate everything you've done for me. I mean, honestly, I wouldn't be where I am today if it wasn't for you."

"Oh Jimmy." She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "You mean everything to me. I would do anything for you."

A jolt of happiness went through him. For a second, he lost the ability to speak. Again, he took a deep breath to compose himself. "Th-Thanks. That . . . That really means a lot." Now he grasped both her hands. "I mean, I know there were times over the past few years when it wasn't easy being around me, and I said and did some things that hurt you, and for that, I am so sorry. But in spite of all that, you stuck by me, when a lot of other people probably would have given up." He paused. "Mireet, I love you more than anything in this world. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I can't imagine my life without you in it."

His heartbeat became deafening. His entire body turned to jelly. He held his breath, summoning every ounce of Gryffindor courage he could.

Slowly, he lowered himself to one knee. Mireet gasped, her left hand snapping up to cover her mouth.

O'Bannon reached inside his robes and pulled out a diamond encrusted ring. "Mir . . . Mireet Miradeaux, will you marry me?"

Her hand fell from her mouth and settled over her chest. She stared at him, wide-eyed. A tear rolled down her cheek. Silence hung in the air, longer than he would have liked. Anxiety draped over him like a heavy blanket. He suddenly thought back to the night of the Yule Ball, when he tried to have his first kiss with Mireet, and she turned him down. Would this be –

"_Oui. Oui_, Jimmy. I will marry you."

O'Bannon was too stunned to move. My God, this really happened. He asked, she said yes. She really wanted to be his wife.

_My wife. My . . . Oh my God. Oh my God!_

He slipped the engagement ring on her finger, shot to his feet and took her in his arms. Mireet half-laughed, half-sobbed as he kissed her.

"I love you," he said, burying his face in Mireet's hair.

"I love you, Jimmy. I love you."

They stood in the middle of the frozen pond, holding one another. O'Bannon opened his eyes and stared at a spot near the banks, the spot where over six years ago he spoke to Mireet for the first time. He recalled his half-serious thought as he stood there and admired the French witch's combination of beauty, strength, intelligence, and kindness.

_Mireet Miradeaux, will you marry me?_

He envisioned his 15-year-old self on those banks and smiled.

_Guess what, buddy. She will._

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	43. The Call

**CHAPTER 43: THE CALL**

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* * *

**

_LOCATION: Dunkin' Donuts Center, Providence, Rhode Island, USA._

_TIME FRAME: Two-and-a-half years after the events of the previous chapter._

__

_

* * *

_

Jimmy O'Bannon slammed his car door shut harder than he expected. He scowled, turned away, and started toward the rear of the beige brick arena, treading carefully on the packed snow that coated the parking lot. He still couldn't let go of last night's embarrassing 5-1 loss to the Albany River Rats. His penalty kill unit had given up two power play goals, he turned the puck over twice, and every shot he took on net missed . . . by a lot.

All in all, it had been one of the worst games he'd ever played since coming to the Providence Bruins of the American Hockey League last season.

O'Bannon took a long breath, feeling the winter air chill his lungs. He tried to put it behind him. It was just one bad game. At times like this, he looked at his life as a whole. He was married to the most beautiful, most amazing witch in the world in Mireet. He continued to create more understanding and tolerance between wizards and Muggles/Muggle-borns. He was playing a game he'd loved since childhood.

_But for how much longer?_

Including last night's debacle, he had zero goals and one assist in his last four games, and his plus-minus rating had to be horrible. He'd been in slumps before, and kept telling himself he would get through it. He always had in the past.

Still the fear niggled the back of his mind. What if this was one slump he couldn't break? What if it went on for another four games? Or eight? Or the whole season? Would Providence cut him? Would that be it for his hockey career?

O'Bannon growled to himself, trying to push down his panic. _Just work harder in practice. Be more alert during penalty kills. Don't force your shots._

He greeted the yellow-jacketed woman sitting in the security booth inside the arena and started down the hallway toward the locker room. He pushed open the door to find three of his teammates sitting his front of their open stalls suiting up for practice.

"Mornin', boys," he said to them.

The players said "hello" back.

"Hey, Jimmy," blurted Eddie Proctor, a tall, muscular left winger. "Coach said he wants to see you in his office."

O'Bannon groaned. _He probably wants to rip me a new one for my suck-ass play. _

_Then again, I probably deserve it._

"Thanks, Eddie," he muttered. Frowning, he exited the locker room and walked to the next door on his right. He stood in front of it, staring at the name plate.

SCOTT GORDON: HEAD COACH

O'Bannon's shoulders slumped. A feeling grew inside him, the feeling he used to get all those years ago when Professor McGonagall called him into her office after helping Fred, George and Lee with one prank or another.

_C'mon. Let's get it over with._

He knocked on the door.

"Come in," said a voice on the other side.

O'Bannon entered the small office. Sitting at the desk was a slender man with dark hair and an angular face.

"You wanted to see me, Coach?" he asked, noting how he drew out the "O" in "Coach." No doubt it was the result of being on teams where probably seventy percent of the players hailed from Canada, and listening constantly to those accents. Then again, how often had words like "git" and "wanker" and "bloody" worked their way into his speech because of all his time in Britain?

"Morning, Jimmy. Sit down." Coach Gordon waved him to a chair in front of his desk.

He sat down. Coach didn't sound pissed, thank God. He prayed the man's pleasant mood would continue.

Coach let out a long breath as he leaned forward, clasping his hands together on top of the desk. "Well, Jimmy. We certainly have been through quite a bit with this club, haven't we?"

"Um, yeah."

"And you've enjoyed playing here in Providence, right?"

"Heck yeah." O'Bannon furrowed his brow, wondering where Coach could be going with this.

"Good. Because, I have something to tell you. As of today, you are no longer a Providence Bruin."

The words hit him like a physical blow. He sat frozen in the chair, staring with unblinking eyes at his coach. He couldn't have heard that right. Coach couldn't have just cut him, could he?

"Wha . . .? I mean . . . what, is this about last night? The past couple of games? Coach, you know I'll bust my ass out there to make sure I -"

"Jimmy, Jimmy. Calm down." Coach Gordon held up his hands, and actually smiled. The man just cut him, and he was smiling about it? What the hell!

He continued, "There's a reason you're no longer a Providence Bruin anymore. It's because they're calling you up."

O'Bannon blinked. Coach's words echoed in his head. _"They're calling you up." _Electrical jolts shot through his body.

_They're calling me up? _And the last rung on the ladder after the AHL was . . .

"Boston's had some injuries to their third and fourth lines," Coach informed him. "They need a winger with good puck handling skills and grit, a guy who won't back down when things get too physical. And they felt you fit the bill."

O'Bannon's mouth fell open. It took several seconds before he managed to form words. "You mean . . . You seriously mean I'm . . ." Part of him didn't want to say it, fearing if he did, he'd wake up in his bed and realize it had all been a dream.

"That's right, Jimmy. You're a Boston Bruin now." Coach Gordon leaned over and extended his hand. "Congratulations."

He just gaped at Coach. It took several seconds before he fought through his shock and shook the man's hand. "I don't . . . I really . . . I'm . . . Holy crap, I did it!"

He sprang out of the chair, bounded around the desk and hugged Coach Gordon.

"Yeah!" O'Bannon cried out as the two men pounded one another's backs. "Yeah!"

When they released one another, Coach Gordon slapped him on the shoulder. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I hope I don't see you in a Providence uniform again."

"Yeah. Yeah. You got it, Coach." O'Bannon couldn't stop bouncing on the balls of his feet. My God, he couldn't believe this was really happening.

"Just remember," Coach told him. "Making it to the NHL is the easy part. Staying there, that's a lot harder."

"Got it, Coach." He figured Gordon would know that very well. The man had spent most of his eight-year playing career bouncing around from one minor league team to another, with only about 20 NHL games to his credit with the Quebec Nordiques.

"And don't let all the star players intimidate you. Remember, most of them put in their time in the minors before they made it big."

"Got it." O'Bannon nodded.

"You keep working as hard as you always do, you don't let anyone push you around up there, and you'll do fine."

"I will, Coach. And, um, I just wanna say, thanks for all opportunities you gave me here, and thanks for all your help. I really do appreciate it."

"It was my pleasure, Jimmy. Best of luck to you."

Coach Gordon then gave him a list of contact numbers for the Boston Bruins, along with their upcoming practice and game schedule. After the two shook hands again, O'Bannon headed back to the locker room and told his teammates the good news. A flurry of hugs and back slaps and high-fives followed. A couple of the guys even dumped bottles of Gatorade on his head.

Yet through all that happiness, O'Bannon felt a tinge of sadness. He looked around the locker room, taking in the face of each player. Quite a few of these guys had been here since he came to Providence last season. They'd gone through countless battles on the ice, shared triumph and defeat, spent hours together in buses and planes and hotel rooms and restaurants. He had met their girlfriends and parents and wives and children, he'd visited their homes. They had created a tight bond.

And now he had to leave them.

_Man, this is just like my last day at Hogwarts. _Back then he hadn't wanted to leave all the friends he'd made in Britain, but knew he had no choice. America was his home, and Salem had been his school.

As for this, well, he'd been playing minor league hockey long enough to know this was the way of things. Players came and went, either through cuts or trades or call-ups. And everyone's goal was to make it to the next level.

Jimmy O'Bannon was no exception.

Eventually, he left the locker room. After saying his farewells to the Providence Bruins front office staff, rink attendants, equipment managers and security people, he headed out to his car, the whole time swallowing against the lump in his throat.

By the time he got back to his apartment, the excitement returned. He was going to be a Boston Bruin. He was going to play in the NHL. Him! Seven years ago this would have been a pipe dream. But now . . .

_How the frig did I do this?_

He rushed up the steps and hurried inside. Merlin's beard, he had a lot to do. Get in touch with the Bruins front office and do all the bureaucratic stuff to make him an official member of the club. He and Mireet would have to find a place to live in Boston. They could probably crash with his parents for a few days until they found an apartment for themselves.

_When's the next game?_

He checked the schedule Coach Gordon gave him. The Bruins played again three days from now, Friday night at home, against the New York Rangers.

_The Rangers. That means Jaromir Jagr, Scotty Gomez, Brendan Shanahan. Holy crap, I'm gonna be on the same ice with those guys!_

What would his family and friends think? Merlin's beard, he had a ton of owls to send and phone and Floo calls to make.

He didn't even have to think about which person he should tell first.

O'Bannon strode to the fireplace, snatched a handful of Floo Powder from the urn atop the mantle and chucked it into the hearth.

"Office of Wizarding-Muggle Relations, Mireet O'Bannon's office."

Green flames gushed from the fireplace. Seconds later the head of his wife floated in the fire.

"Jimmy? I did not expect a call from you. Shouldn't you be at practice?"

A smile grew across his face. "Honey, wait till you hear what happened to me today."

**XXXXX**

_THREE DAYS LATER_

O'Bannon laid in bed staring up at the darkened ceiling. With a frustrated sigh, he looked over at the digital alarm clock on the nightstand. The red numbers in the display shimmered 2:35. He clenched his teeth. In less than seventeen hours, he'd be making his NHL debut for the team he'd rooted for his entire life.

_Get some sleep. You don't want to be dragging ass for this, do you?_

He shut his eyes.

_Go to sleep. Go to sleep._

Instead his mind raced with formations and match-ups and tactics and scouting reports from the last couple days of practice. He thought about all the mistakes Bruins Coach Claude Julien and veteran players like Glen Murray and Glen Metropolit pointed out to him. What if he made those mistakes during tonight's game? What if it cost the Bruins a win?  
_Stop thinking that way. Negative thoughts breed negative action._

He drew a long breath, trying to recapture the excitement that filled him three days ago when Coach Gordon told him he'd been called up to Boston. But all that joy seemed blocked by a dark mass of anxiety. His imagination spawned unpleasant scenes in his mind, accompanied by the voice of Bruins broadcaster Jack Edwards.

"_O'Bannon's gotta get this goal for the Bruins to win the shootout and the game . . . Here he comes . . . dekes left. Right. Shot! It goes right! Far right! Oh, the net coulda been the size of a Mack Truck and O'Bannon woulda missed it!"_

"_O'Bannon in the neutral zone. Make the pass . . . intercepted by Jagr! It's a breakaway! He scores! Oh, Jimmy O'Bannon just giftwrapped that goal for the Rangers."_

"_Sean Avery lands a flurry of rights on O'Bannon! He's getting the snot beat out of him! Who taught this guy to fight? Hannah Montana?" _

His face twisted in a scowl. These shouldn't be the sorts of things one thought about when dreaming about playing in the NHL. All his prior hockey fantasies involved him scoring a goal in overtime to win the Stanley Cup, then hoisting that beautiful trophy over his head, or accepting the Hart Trophy as the league's Most Valuable Player, or giving his induction speech at the Hockey Hall of Fame. He tried to conjure up those fantasies, but to no avail. All he could think of was what mistakes he might make out on the ice. Mistakes people all over New England would see on their TVs. Hell, people all over North America would see them courtesy of networks like ESPN, Versus and Canada's TSN.

O'Bannon felt his stomach knot up. He rolled on his side and looked at the alarm clock. 3:04. He clenched his fist, about to pound the mattress in frustration, but stopped himself. He didn't want to wake Mireet, who slept peacefully next to him.

_I'm glad one of us can._

He gently lifted the covers off him and got out of bed. On tiptoes he walked down the hallway and downstairs into the living room of his parents' home. He switched on a light and shuffled over to the fireplace. His eyes scanned the framed photos, some normal, some magical, that either hung on the wall or sat on the mantle.

There he was with Jared and Rosa, the three of them wearing their Blazenrowe Hall hockey uniforms. Another photo showed him and Mireet in their Triad uniforms. Another frame mounted on the wall showed four photos of him in all his previous pro hockey uniforms; Fort Wayne Komets, Nottingham Panthers, the ECHL's Idaho Steelheads, and Providence Bruins.

He couldn't remember ever feeling this way before. Not before the Triad/Slytherin game at Hogwarts, not in his professional debut with the Komets. Sure he'd been nervous. Very nervous. Who wouldn't have been? But not on a scale like this. It felt like his self-confidence had abandoned him. Coach Gordon's words from earlier in the week rang through his head. _"Making it to the NHL is the easy part. Staying there, that's a lot harder."_

O'Bannon's jaw tightened. If he couldn't rid himself of all this doubt, his stay in the NHL would be a lot shorter than the twenty or so games Coach Gordon had.

"Jimmy?"

He spun around and found Mireet standing at the foot of the steps, wearing a white cotton bathrobe and slippers.

"Hey." He gave her a brief smile. "Sorry if I woke you."

"You did not. I woke up a few minutes ago and noticed you were not there. Are you all right?"

"Yeah." He turned back to the photos. "Yeah, I'm fine."

He heard a long sigh coming from his wife, one he recognized instantly. The sigh that said, "I do not believe you."

His shoulders sagged as Mireet came over to him. "This is about your game tonight, isn't it?" She put a gentle hand on his arm. "It is only natural to be nervous."

He snorted a humorless laugh. "Nervous? I wish that's all I was. Try nervousness mixed with a lot of dread. I think the last time I felt this way was the day I proposed to you. I was thinking more about what would happen if you said no than if you said yes."

"And that worked out well, did it not?"

O'Bannon couldn't help but smile at her. "Yeah. Yeah, it did."

Mireet kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Then you must believe this will work out for you as well."

"I'm trying, Mireet. I really am. But it's . . ."

She tilted her head when he didn't continue. "It is what?"

He worked his jaw back and forth and let out a loud sigh. "I'm just looking at all these photos, thinking back to when I was with Fort Wayne and Nottingham and Idaho. It's like . . . hell, when I was with them, I was just happy to be playing hockey. Being in the Wizarding World, and with the war, I never really thought I'd play hockey after I graduated from Salem. Now . . . Now I've made it this far, and . . ."

"And what?"

Silence hung between them for several seconds. O'Bannon finally let out a long breath and spoke. "You know, there are thirty teams in the NHL, and on game night you've got twenty active guys on the roster. So that means there's six hundred guys on any given day who are playing in this league. Six hundred guys, out of God knows how many hockey players from all over the world. And now I'm gonna be one of those six hundred."

"Then you should feel honored to be part of a select group like that."

"Yeah, I should. But the more I think about it . . ." He rubbed the back of his head. "My God, Mireet, I'm looking down the road here, and I'm saying to myself, I'm gonna be on the ice with guys like Joe Sakic and Martin Brodeur and Niklas Lidstrom. These are guys I've been watching on TV for years. They've got tons of individual awards, they've got their names inscribed on the Stanley Cup, and they're all locks for the Hall of Fame. Those guys are the best of the best. And I'm wondering, do I deserve to be on the same ice as them?"

"Yes, you do," Mireet said without hesitation.

"Heh! Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"I am serious." She lowered her head a little, staring him straight in the eyes. "I doubt the Bruins would have called you up if they did not think you were ready to deal with the likes of those players. You have worked hard for this, and you have earned it. Jimmy, it is not like you to doubt yourself like this."

"I know, and that's what's pissing me off. But . . . I don't know. You see the stuff these people have accomplished, I think about all the times I've watched 'em on TV or in person at the Garden and just marveled at the stuff they could do, and wish I could do it myself, and I wonder, am I getting in over my head here?"

"That is not the first time you have felt that way."

He gave his wife a quizzical look. "Huh?"

Mireet slid her hand down his arm and grasped his hand. "I am sure you did not expect to form a hockey team from wizards and witches who knew nothing about the sport when we were at Hogwarts, then pit them against the Slytherins, but you did. And I am certain you did not expect to protect all those children during the war, or lead your friends during the Battle of Helghorst Island, but you did. After all the challenges you have faced in your life, this should be nothing for you."

O'Bannon lowered his head, frowning at all these stupid fears that had consumed him. How could one hockey game, even if it was the NHL, compare to fighting and surviving a war, then conquering his alcoholism?

_Joe Sakic isn't a Death Eater, and Martin Brodeur isn't a Dementor. They're just people._

_People who happen to be some of the greatest hockey players in the world._

_But still, they're people._

He stared up at his wife and smiled. "Thanks, hon." He hugged and kissed her.

"You will do well, Jimmy." Mireet tightened her embrace. "I believe in you. So do your parents, and mine, and all our friends."

A lump formed in his throat. He kissed Mireet on the side of her head and pressed his cheek against her thick blond hair. He continued holding her, almost feeling the strength of her belief in him coursing through his body.

_I can do this. I can do this._

"Now come. You need your rest."

O'Bannon groaned. "Good luck with that. I'm so wound up I don't know if I can sleep."

A wry grin crossed his wife's lips. "I think I can help with that."

Scant minutes later, O'Bannon was stretched out on their bed, Mireet massaging his bare back. He felt his muscles loosen, the tension fading. He moaned with contentment. His eyelids grew heavy. It wouldn't be long before sleep would overtake him, he could feel it.

Again he thought about his first game with the Bruins.

_I can do it. I can do it._

He cracked open his eyelids and checked the alarm clock. 4:05. His breath caught in his throat. Nervousness clawed at the back of his mind as his gaze remained locked on those red numbers.

4:05. Exactly fifteen hours before the puck dropped. Fifteen hours before he made his NHL debut.

_God help me._

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_

_**

* * *

**_

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **_In hockey, the plus/minus rating is used to judge a player's defensive performance. For every goal that player's team scores when he is on the ice, he gets a plus. For every goal the opponent scores while the player is on the ice, he gets a minus._


	44. Nervous Night

**CHAPTER 44: NERVOUS NIGHT**

* * *

"So being this is the big Muggle hockey league, do you believe your husband has what it takes to succeed there?"

Mireet O'Bannon's eyes narrowed on the idiot reporter from _The All-Seeing Eye_ that sat in her in-laws' living room. She clenched her fingers together, trying to stem the anger flowing through her as she answered. "The Bruins would not have called him up if they did not think he could perform at this level. He is more than ready to play in the NHL."

"But I imagine professional sports is just as competitive in the Muggle World as it is in the Wizarding World," said the pear-shaped witch from Britain's _The Daily Prophet. _"Suppose your husband doesn't succeed in this NHL league?"

Mireet's face tightened. She drew a slow breath before responding, "Jimmy will succeed."

"Well, it's nice to have hope, but -"

"_He . . . will . . . succeed."_ Mireet noticed her words came out in almost a hiss.

_So what? Why shouldn't I be angry? _These reporters seemed to make it their mission to set Jimmy up for failure. She wanted to shake her head in disbelief. After everything her husband had done, from fighting against Voldemort's forces to building bridges between the Wizarding and Muggle Worlds, this is how they treat him? Hoping he fails at something he had dreamed of doing his entire life?

She looked over at Lee Jordan from Britain's Wizarding Wireless Network News. He gave her a sympathetic smile. Thank Merlin Lee was part of this group of reporters. He, at least, wanted Jimmy to do well.

A few minutes later, the interview ended. The reporters gave her perfunctory thanks and left the house. Only Lee remained.

"'ere, forget about those plonkers," he told her. "They just delight in making everyone miserable."

Mireet looked up at him and gave him a brief smile. "Thank you, Lee." She then settled back in the couch, sighing and staring at her lap.

"Oi, you okay?"

She frowned. "Sorry, I am just nervous."

"For Jimmy?"

"_Oui. _This is a very important night for him. I am just praying he does well."

"'Course he'll do well. He's Jimmy O'Bannon. He's gonna do what he always does. Go out on the ice and kick some arse."

Mireet couldn't help but chuckle at that. She then studied Lee, taking in his smile and the determined look in his eyes. Was it a brave front he put up, or did he firmly believe Jimmy would, as he said, "kick some arse?" Hard to tell when dealing with a man. If it was the latter, she wished she could cast a spell to transfer some of that confidence to her. Worry had clung to her like irons since she woke up this morning. She had barely eaten anything. She kept remembering the stories her _Grand-pere _Rejean told her about witches and wizards who were star Quidditch players at Beauxbatons, but could not perform in the professional ranks. Did that fate await her husband?

_No. I must not think that._

Still the worry would not leave her.

Lee shoved his large, oval-shaped magical microphone into an inside pocket in his robes. "Well, I need to dash. I'm doing interviews with George, Ginny and a couple others from the Triad, get their reaction to Jimmy's debut. Pretty cool of George, huh? Getting the whole gang over here to watch Jimmy."

"_Oui."_ Mireet smiled. But even that made her worry. Having so many wizards and witches together for an event at a Muggle venue created a host of potential problems. Accidental use of magic, odd behavior – odd for Muggles, anyway – that would draw unwarranted attention. Luna would be there. Much as Mireet liked her, one never knew what the witch would do, or say. And Mr. Weasley. Would he be able to control his fascination with Muggles and Muggle things in a place like the New Boston Garden? She'd seen the man's eyes grow wide at the mere mention of a pencil sharpener. How would he react to the huge scoreboard that hung over the rink or the large video screens with all their computer effects? Would everyone make it to the arena on time? Would they have their tickets? Would they like their seats?

Would the presence of so many friends and family make Jimmy even more nervous?

She suddenly became aware that Lee was giving her another sympathetic smile. "He'll do fine, Mireet. You'll see."

"_Oui. _Of course."

She kissed Lee on both cheeks before seeing him to the door. After that, Mireet had the house to herself, with more than four hours remaining before she left for the arena with Jimmy's parents. She tried to occupy herself by reading, then Apparating to Ovenderburg to swim in the lake near the wizarding town, then coming back to the house to watch TV.

No matter what she did, she couldn't stop thinking about Jimmy's debut tonight, and worrying about him.

_If I'm feeling this way, what is he going through?_

**XXXXX**

_Don't puke. Please don't puke._

O'Bannon clenched his teeth, willing the nausea that battered his stomach to go away. His heart hammered in his chest. He took a ragged breath as he sat in front of his locker stall, conversations and footsteps from the players around him turning into white noise. He glanced up at the clock that hung over the door. 5:57. Little over an hour away from puck drop.

O'Bannon let out a long breath and stared back down at the black and gold jersey in his hands. He turned it around to view the back.

O'BANNON 61.

Slowly, he turned the jersey back around, his eyes locked on the logo of the black "B" in a circle surrounded by gold spokes.

Merlin's beard, this thing was real. Not a replica from some sports store. This was a real, legit Boston Bruins jersey. _His _Boston Bruins jersey.

He continued to gaze at the famed logo, thinking of the history behind it. Eighty-three years, five Stanley Cups, twenty division titles. Then he thought of other past players who had worn this uniform. Eddie Shore. Milt Schmidt. Johnny Bucyk. Phil Esposito. Ray Bourque. Bobby Orr. Not just players. Legends. O'Bannon swore he felt their eyes staring at him through the mists of time, their hardened gazes asking a single question.

_Are you worthy to be one of us?_

"Hey, Rookie!" Someone with a German accent hollered at him.

O'Bannon's head snapped up. A few feet away stood ten-year veteran Marco Sturm, his head titled as he stared at him.

"Um, yeah?"

"It's a good idea to put that on before the skate around." Sturm nodded at the jersey in O'Bannon's hand.

"Huh? Oh. Oh, yeah. Yeah, I was just gonna do that." He quickly donned his jersey and made some quick adjustments to his pads.

Sturm shook his head, a half-smile on his face. He then turned and headed for the door, muttering something in his native tongue.

O'Bannon stood up, exhaled, and made the sign of the cross. _Give me strength to do this, God._

After another deep breath, he headed for the door with the rest of the team. His heart slammed against his chest as they took to the ice. Chills went through his body that had nothing to do with the cool air in the arena. He scanned the stands. Less than a quarter of the seats were occupied. A smattering of cheers and applause echoed through the arena. His muscles tensed when he thought what the place would be like an hour from now, with most, if not all, the seats full, and 17,000 people screaming their bloody heads off.

O'Bannon and the rest of the Bruins skated around their half of the ice, shooting pucks at the net while goalies Tim Thomas and Manny Fernandez alternated between the pipes. After each shot, O'Bannon's head swiveled around, taking in everything he could. Several fans pressed up against the glass to watch them in skate around, including a cute brown-haired girl in her early twenties holding a hand-made sign that read MARRY ME MARCO STURM. He looked up at the huge scoreboard hanging over center ice. It seemed weird to see it from this perspective, instead of from one of the seats like he usually did. Then he looked across the ice at the skaters in white jerseys with red and blue trim and a single word running diagonally down the front. RANGERS. He spotted Brendan Shanahan, Chris Drury and Jaromir Jagr.

_I'm really on the ice with those guys._

He swallowed. _I'm gonna be playing against those guys._

O'Bannon took another shot on net, which Thomas kicked away, then searched the right side of the arena, his eyes focused one section in particular.

**XXXXX**

They hadn't even gotten into the arena, and already Mireet was encountering problems. The first came from the unlikeliest of people. Hector, Artimus and Jenna's eleven-month-old son. Ginny Potter, Susan Bones and Ursa Oberlin all crowded around the baby carrier, gushing over the little boy. Any other day, she'd be doing the same as well. But for now she wanted to keep this large group together, and with somewhat gentle prodding, got the women to move toward the entrance.

"Mireet, you really must calm down," her mother scolded her as they moved toward the turnstyles. "You practically treated those women like children."

"I do not want anyone to become separated, mother. We have several purebloods with us who have little or no experience in Muggle places, especially ones this large and this crowded."

"And if any of them do get lost in here, I imagine it wouldn't occur to them to ask a Muggle for help finding their seat."

Mireet's jaw clenched. She had a couple of responses in mind, but kept them to herself. Now was not the time to get into an argument with her mother.

Scant minutes later, another problem arose. Mr. Weasley held up the line when he became fascinated by the electronic device the Muggles used to scan everyone's tickets.

"So how does this work . . . What do you mean it reads our tickets . . . _Lie-zeer? _What's a _Lie-zeer . . ._ You mean a little red light does all that . . . Oh, perhaps we can take it apart and see what's inside?"

Mireet put a hand on her brow and shook her head. _Mr. Weasley. Why must you do this now?_

"Oh for goodness sakes, Arthur!" Mrs. Weasley bellowed. "It's freezing cold out here and you're holding up the line. Now go on."

Once they made it inside, Mireet swept her eyes over their group. Everyone was here . . . almost. Mr. and Mrs. Infante still had yet to arrive.

"Do your parents know how to enter the arena?" she asked Rosa, who was holding hands with a tall, athletic-looking man with a tan complexion.

"Oh don't worry. They've been here a couple times before. They'll be fine."

"Hm." Rosa's boyfriend, Carmine Calipari, who worked with Mr. Diaz's SMACRAT group, looked around the wide concourse. "It's not as big as a Quidditch stadium, is it?"

"It's big enough to hold over seventeen thousand people," Rosa told him.

"And this, um, hockey game, you said it's almost as exciting as Quidditch, right?"

Rosa rolled her eyes. "Oh quit worryin', willya? You're gonna have a good time. Trust me." She kissed him on the cheek.

More worry cropped up within Mireet. Would Rosa's boyfriend be bored? She'd only met Carmine twice before. The man didn't seem to be very interested in Muggle things. She also had the feeling he wasn't very fond of Rosa being such close friends with Jimmy and Artimus.

_Perhaps he'll change over time._

_Alain didn't._

Mireet frowned, hoping Rosa didn't go through the same sort of relationship with Carmine that she had with the auror at the French Embassy years ago.

"Okay, Ron." Jared passed by her, an arm around Ron Weasley's shoulders. "Time to introduce you to the wonderful world of Muggle sports food. Oh, and be sure to get a lotta napkins if you're gonna have nachos. They're good, but messy."

"Do not go too far, Jared," Mireet warned him.

He looked over his shoulder, smirking. "Yes, Mom." Chuckling, he turned back around and guided Ron to one of the concession stands.

Someone sighed next to Mireet. She turned and saw Tasanee standing inches away, arms folded, her engagement ring sparkling on her finger.

"He is unbelievable," said the Thai witch. "His best friend is about to play here for the first time, yet all he can think of is food."

"And now you know what it's like for me being married to Ron," Hermione Weasley said as she joined them.

Mireet watched Jared and Ron get in line at a nearby concession stand. Neither boy looked worried at all, like they were about to see just another hockey game. She didn't know whether to envy them, or be upset with them.

"Merlin's beard!" Rosa squealed. Her hands shot to her mouth. "I don't believe it!"

Mireet followed her friend's gaze. She spotted Mr. and Mrs. Infante come through the turnstyles with . . .

Her eyes grew wide. _It can't be._

"Sorry we're late," said Mr. Infante. "But we had to pick up the last members of our merry group."

Several children and teens crowded around the Infantes, all smiling. Mireet just stood there, marveling at how big they had all gotten, remembering what they had been like during their time in the Appalachians years ago.

Rosa hurried forward. "It's so good to see you guys again." She hugged the closest child, Jillian Cubbage. Soon the others crowded around her. Crea Cardwell. Willie Zobrist. Deanna Jackson. Jonah Cubbage.

"Mireet!" A small girl with braided blond hair rushed over and hugged her. "Merlin's beard, it's great to see you again."

"You too." A lump formed in her throat as she embraced 12-year-old Holly Juniper. "Look at you. You've grown so much. How are you doing?"

"Are you kidding? I'm so excited. I get to see Coach Jimmy play in the NHL. But you gotta be excited too, right?"

Mireet forced a smile. "_Oui. _I am very excited."

"Wait. Shouldn't all of you still be in school?" Artimus asked after hugging Maria Rosales.

"Yeah, we should," said Daedalus Drunkenmiller, who with his lanky 6'3 frame, blazing red hair and freckles, could easily be mistaken for another Weasley. "But when the Secretary of Magic himself asks our headmasters and headmistresses if we can be released for a special event . . . well, it's hard to say no to something like that."

"And if they did say no, we would have snuck out of our schools and came here on our own," said Kyon Yoon-Ku, who grasped Daedalus' hand and leaned against his side.

"This is an awesome surprise, Dad." Rosa beamed at Mr. Infante. "Jimmy is gonna be so excited when he sees all of you."

"C'mon, let's get to our seats." The chubby Brendan Heinz bounced on the balls of his feet. "I wanna see what the rink looks like. I can't wait to tell my Muggle Studies teacher about this."

The group proceeded to the entrance for their section, delayed again by Mr. Weasley when he became very interested in the mustard and ketchup dispensers sitting on a counter across from one of the concession stands. Everyone found their seats with little trouble. Mireet wound up sitting between her mother and Jimmy's mother. Both the Bruins and Rangers were out on the ice for their skate arounds. She tried to find Jimmy's Number 61 when her mother said, "Mireet, you should try these sandwiches they sell here." She held out a roll containing what looked like ham and cheese. "They are surprisingly good."

"No thank you. I am not hungry."

Mother gave her a concerned look. "Did you eat before you came here?"

Mireet snorted. "I am too nervous to eat."

"Come now, starving yourself will not help your husband. I will go get you something to -"

"No, mother." Mireet answered in a low yet harsh voice. "Please, just . . . just leave me be."

She turned away from her mother, all her muscles tightening. She looked at the clock on the scoreboard, already counting down to the opening puck drop.

48:32 . . . 48:31 . . . 48:30.

She lowered her head, staring at her hands in her lap. She squeezed her left with her right, to the point it started to hurt.

_Jimmy will do well._

_What if he doesn't?_

_He will._

_What if . . ._

Another hand reached over and gripped both of hers. She looked up to find Jimmy's mother giving her a shaky smile.

"I'm nervous too, honey." Her mother-in-law gave her hands a reassuring squeeze. "I think the last time I was this worried was when Jimmy went off to Salem for the first time."

Mireet tried to force a smile. "I am trying to be positive, but I . . . I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Mrs. O'Bannon let go of her hands, put an arm around her shoulders, and pulled her against her side. "If you weren't so worried about him, I'd think there was something wrong with you."

Mireet softly chuckled.

"Just remember. Jimmy wouldn't be here tonight if not for you." Mrs. O'Bannon gave her a gentle kiss on the head.

Tears stung Mireet's eyes. She clenched her teeth to keep from crying. It was only a handful of years ago when this woman had screamed at her to get out of her house. Now . . .

"_Merci,"_ she managed to say, trying to take comfort in her mother-in-law's half-embrace.

"Hey, there he is!" Seamus Finnigan stood up and pointed to the ice. "There's Jimmy!"

"Yeah, Jimmy!" George Weasley cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted.

"Woooo! You're the man, Jimmy!" hollered Dante Marshall.

"Jimmy! Jimmy! Jimmy!" Jared chanted. He then looked around their section. "Well c'mon, everyone! Jimmy! Jimmy! Jimmy!"

Several of the men joined in Jared's chant. She tried to take some joy in that, hoping that her husband heard those chants, and that it would give him confidence.

Then she looked at the clock again.

45:56 . . . 45:55 . . . 45:54.

Worry darkened her insides. She looked back at Mrs. O'Bannon. The woman's smile dissolved, replaced by a mask of apprehension.

_At least I have someone to share my worry with._

**XXXXX**

O'Bannon reared back with his stick and fired the puck at the net. Tim Thomas snagged it with his glove. He frowned for a moment, then checked the stands again. A smile spread across his face when he noticed Jared, Rosa, George, Seamus and Dante standing and pumping their fists. A chant of "Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy" managed to cut through the din of voices throughout the arena and the constant scratch of metal blades on ice. He drew a deep breath, straining his ears to hold on to those chants, to use them to fuel his confidence.

His eyes flickered over the section where his friends and family sat, taking in individual faces in a flash. Katie Bell – _Katie Tillenfare now – _Ernie and Hannah MacMillan, Michael and Cho Corner, Artimus and Jenna Rand, along with little Hector. Joy and surprise surged through him when he saw the children he and his friends had protected from the Death Eaters during the war. Daedalus Drunkenmiller. Kyon Yoon-Ku. Holly Juniper – _My God, look how she's grown. _

He then spotted his grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. Mireet's parents. His father. And finally, his mother and Mireet, each with an arm around the other's shoulders.

_They're with you, man, _he thought as he skated around the boards._ They're all with you._

O'Bannon took one more shot on net, putting it into the high right corner, before Coach Julien called them off the ice. He looked up into the stands, his eyes locked on Mireet. He couldn't tell if she saw him or not. Either way, he blew her a quick kiss and smiled. _Love you. Wish me luck._

He followed the rest of the Bruins back to the locker room. They sat in front of their stalls as Coach Julien gave them last minute instructions. Who to cover on defense. Set-ups on the power play. Getting after the Rangers on penalty kills. Not letting Sean Avery, one of the league's biggest agitators, get in their heads.

O'Bannon tried to keep his attention on Coach. But every so often his eyes drifted to the clock on the wall. His stomach clenched whenever he counted the minutes before game time. Twenty minutes, then seventeen, then fifteen.

_Oh my God. This is really happening._

_Focus, dammit. Listen to Coach._

". . . and be aggressive," Coach Julien told them. "Last game we played flat for too many stretches. I want you to pepper Lundqvist on net tonight. Double-digit shots in every period, that's what I expect. And I want to see harder hitting out there, and I want it done early. Let's set the tone and take New York out of their game."

"Yeah!" several players blurted. O'Bannon wanted to shout too, but didn't feel it his place as a rookie. Instead he just nodded.

"Okay." Coach clapped his hands together. "Do a final equipment check, and then let's line up, go out there, and get a win tonight."

More "yeahs" and cheers went through the locker room. O'Bannon just looked at the clock. Less than ten minutes until puck drop. Nausea burned his stomach. His breathing quickened, as did his heartbeat. For a moment, he wondered if he'd be able to get off his seat and walk out onto the ice.

_C'mon, Jimmy. You got your wife, your family and your friends out there. They believe in you. Believe in yourself. You've been dreaming of this your whole life._

_What if I mess up? What if I embarrass myself? Embarrass the team? Embarrass my family?_

He closed his eyes tight. _Get your friggin' head on right. This is the NHL. Focus on the game. That is the only thing in your life right now. Focus!_

Somebody slapped him on the knee. He opened his eyes and whipped his head to the left. Glen Murray, one of the alternate captains, crouched next to him.

"Don't worry, kid," he said with a half-smile. "I was nervous too my first game. But so long as you don't puke on the ice in front of seventeen thousand people, and everyone else watching on TV, then you'll be fine."

O'Bannon chuckled. "Thanks."

Murray nodded. "All right. Now let's get out there and kick some ass."

"You got it."

The two bumped fists. As Murray turned and headed for the exit, O'Bannon grabbed his left glove and pulled it tighter on his hand. He was about to do the same with his right glove when he noticed two letters written in white chalk at the bottom of his glove. The initials of someone who should be here in person tonight.

The initials FW.

O'Bannon let out a breath and patted the bottom of his right glove. "Well, buddy, here we go."

_**NEXT: GAME TIME**_


	45. Game Time

**CHAPTER 45: GAME TIME**

* * *

On more than one occasion, Jimmy O'Bannon's life had flashed before his eyes. But it had always been during some life or death situation, like being pursued by British aurors during The Longathian Tunnel Affair or when he'd been nearly crushed by that giant in the Appalachians.

Never before had it happened before a hockey game.

In fact, those were the only parts of his life that spooled through his mind. All his time on the ice, from pee wee leagues to youth leagues to Salem to the Triad/Slytherin game. He thought the end of his school days had meant the end of his playing days. But after four-plus seasons in the minors, he'd finally made it to the biggest stage in the world. The National Hockey League.

He peered around his fellow Bruins, lined up in the runway leading to the ice. Boos echoed through the arena as the starters for the New York Rangers were announced.

_Not long now._

He drew slow, deep breaths, constantly shifting his weight from one leg to another. Excitement, anticipation and anxiety created an emotional maelstrom within him. His hands flexed around the handle of his stick.

_You gotta calm down. _

Someone tapped him from behind. O'Bannon turned to find a young man with an angular face smiling at him.

"Relax, Jimmy," said Matt Lashoff, a defenseman and a former teammate of his from Providence. "Just think the same thing I did before my first game here. 'This is what you've wanted all your life.'"

"I have been thinking that. It ain't helping.'"

"Mm. Didn't help me a lot, either. Still, everything'll be fine once you get that first shift under your belt."

"I hope you're right, man."

"Trust me, I am." Lashoff slapped him on the shoulder. "Go get 'em, Jimmy."

"Thanks, man."

O'Bannon noticed the arena darken. He stiffened, tingles shooting through his body as a powerful, energetic beat filled the air. He held his breath as the music crescendoed, along with the cheers from 17,000 people. Tremors went up and down his legs as the sound of an explosion burst from the loudspeakers and a string of pyrotechnics went off above the ice.

"AND NOW, LET'S HEAR IT FOR YOUR BOSTOOOOOOON BRUIIIIIIINS!"

The crowd roared, causing O'Bannon to shiver.

"STARTING AT CENTER, NUMBER 91, MAAAAARC SAVAAAAARD!"

Another roar went up from the crowd as Savard took to the ice.

O'Bannon gripped his stick, tensing after the name of each starter was called. Zdeno Chara . . . Marco Sturm . . . Chuck Kobasew . . . Aaron Ward . . . and finally, their goalie, Tim Thomas.

"AND HERE ARE THE REST OF YOUR BOSTOOOOON BRUIIIIINS!"

The rest of the line moved. O'Bannon sucked down a quick breath.

_This is it. Oh my God, this is it._

He walked forward, his eyes locked on the gleaming white ice surface ten feet away . . . five feet . . . two feet . . . one step away.

His skates hit the ice. The noise from the packed arena was deafening. He followed the rest of the Bruins, skating in a circle around their side of the rink. Thunderous cheers and applause filled his ears. He glanced at the stands. How many times had he sat up there cheering for the Bruins? Now . . . Merlin's beard, they were cheering for him!

_Cool._

He closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to not think about the cheering crowd, or all his friends and family members sitting in the stands. For the next three hours, only one thing mattered.

The game.

O'Bannon skated to the Bruins bench while the starters for both his team and the Rangers stood on the blue lines for the singing of the national anthem. The captains then skated to the side of the rink for the ceremonial first puck drop, done by a representative from one of the Bruins advertisers.

He took a seat on the bench, clutching his stick, as the skaters for both teams set up for the opening face-off, with Savard and Jaromir Jagr at center ice.

_Well, these are the best seats I've ever had for a Bruins game. _O'Bannon smiled to himself, wondering if Fred Weasley would have appreciated that little joke.

He glanced at his right glove, where he'd inscribed the initials FW. He then cast his eyes to the ceiling of the new Boston Garden. _I hope you're watching, Fred._

The slap of sticks reached his ears. He looked out on the ice to see the puck slide toward Kobasew, who worked it toward the blue line before passing it to Chara.

His first NHL game had begun.

Only twenty seconds passed before Boston had its first shot on goal, a one-timer by Sturm that Henrik Lundqvist turned away. The next minute or so consisted of both teams taking possession of the puck, but unable to get any good shots on net.

The second lines then came on the ice. Boston took two more shots on net, New York had one. None of them resulted in a goal. Coach Julien then sent the first line back out. They couldn't get off a shot before the Rangers got the puck. Coach Julien shouted orders to the guys on the ice. Several players on the bench stood up, yelling at the first line to get after them. O'Bannon clenched his fists.

_C'mon, guys. Stop 'em!_

He tensed as Marty Straka reared back and launched the puck . . . which soared way over Tim Thomas and into the netting behind the goal. The refs blew their whistles to signal the play dead.

"Third line, out there!" ordered Coach Julien.

O'Bannon's eyes widened. _Oh my God. That's me._

He got to his feet and hopped over the boards.

_This is it. This is real. I'm actually in an NHL game._

The thoughts flew from his mind as Coach hollered from the bench where he wanted him to set up for the face-off. To the right, opposite New York's Colton Orr.

The awe of being in a real NHL game quickly faded. He checked the positions of the players around him, running down the strengths and weaknesses of all five Rangers skaters, where to go if the puck came his way. He also wondered about the line he was on, how well they'd play together. His third line was one that had to be rearranged because of recent injuries. He wasn't too concerned about their center, Glen Metropolit. He'd been playing pro hockey for over a decade. But the other winger, Milan Lucic, was a rookie just like him. Though Lucic was much younger than O'Bannon at 19 years of age, and as captain of the Canadian junior national team last summer, definitely had tons of talent.

Even so, he prayed they could work well together after just three days of practice.

He gave one last glance at Orr before focusing on the face-off circle twenty feet away. He tightened his grip on the stick as the referee dropped the puck between Metropolit and New York's Blair Betts.

The Rangers won the puck. O'Bannon stuck with Orr as Betts passed to Jason Strudwick, who then slid the puck to Marcel Hossa. Hossa tried for a shot on goal, but was cut off by Matt Lashoff. He pushed the puck toward Orr. O'Bannon followed him around the boards as the Rangers' forward got the puck on his stick. O'Bannon came in at an angle, forcing Orr into the boards. He jammed his stick against the base of the boards, trying to get at the puck. The taller, thicker Orr rammed a shoulder into O'Bannon. He almost lost his balance, but managed to shove back. Both men grunted and pushed and jabbed with their sticks.

Finally the puck trickled free. Lucic corralled it and took it up ice. O'Bannon turned away from Orr, pumping his legs to catch up with Lucic. The young Bruin skated down the right side before sending a cross ice pass to Lashoff. He sent the puck along the boards, where Metropolit picked it up.

O'Bannon reached the net, stopped, and spun to his right. Orr came up alongside him and started jostling him. O'Bannon put a shoulder into him. Metropolit came round behind the net.

"Glen! Glen! Glen!" He smacked his stick on the ice.

Metropolit turned and fed him the puck. O'Bannon twisted around, Orr right in his pocket. The huge forward bumped shoulders with him, trying to poke the puck away with his stick. O'Bannon gritted his teeth, trying to keep control of the puck. He scanned the goal. Lundqvist turned with him, angling his body to deny him a shot.

That's when he saw a little bit of space to the Swedish goalie's left side. He twisted again, battling Orr's stick, battling Orr himself. With a grunt, he gave the puck a push toward the net.

_Dink!_

It hit off the post and trickled away. New York's Blair Betts got it and worked it up ice.

"Dammit," O'Bannon growled as he took off after him.

All the Rangers could manage was a bad angle shot that missed the Bruins' net by a good eight feet. The puck banged off the boards. Metropolit got it and skated behind the Boston net as the Rangers changed lines.

Coach Julien also waved for O'Bannon's line to come off the ice. He hopped over the boards, breathing heavily, his legs tight. After grabbing a sports bottle from one of his teammates, he took a seat and squeezed a stream of water into his mouth. Lashoff plopped down next to him.

"Welcome to the NHL," he elbowed O'Bannon in the side.

"Thanks." He passed the sports bottle to the defenseman. "That was . . . jeez, man, that was a rush. Crap, I should probably use a better word, but, damn I was really out there."

"Save it for later, Rookie," Metropolit told him. "We still got a game to play."

"Um, yeah. Yeah, right." O'Bannon mentally scolded himself. He had to stop acting like some starry-eyed kid. He was in an NHL game. Some of the people on this bench started playing in this league when he was still at the Salem Witches Institute.

_You're an NHL player now. Start acting like it._

With 9:41 left in the first period, the score remained 0-0. Coach Julien sent O'Bannon's line back out on the ice, changing on the fly. The Rangers had the puck and were bringing it down ice. O'Bannon covered Nigel Dawes as he picked up the puck. The Rangers winger tried for a shot. O'Bannon got his body in front of Dawes, cutting him off. Dawes passed to Straka, who then sent the puck toward defenseman Fedor Tyutin . . . who missed! The puck trickled along the boards. O'Bannon raced behind the net, Dawes right with him. Lashoff got the puck and passed it to Lucic. The young winger started up ice. O'Bannon sped along the ice to catch up. Dawes overtook him. Gritting his teeth, O'Bannon pumped his legs, trying to outrace the Ranger.

Lucic to Metropolit. The Bruins center looked his way. O'Bannon tried to get some separation between him and Dawes, but couldn't. Instead Metropolit sent a backdoor pass to the Bruins other defenseman, Andrew Ference. O'Bannon skidded to a stop, then reversed direction. Dawes trailed him by a couple steps.

"Andy! Andy! Andy!"

Ference glanced his way and zipped the puck toward him. O'Bannon got it and looked around. Dawes bore down on him. He quickly scanned the ice. Metropolit was open on the opposite side. He smacked the puck toward the center just as Dawes bumped into him. Metropolit got the puck, sent it toward Lucic, who shot it at the net . . .

Lundqvist stuck out a pad. The puck bounced off it. Lashoff and Marty Straka came together a few feet from the Rangers' net, sticks and bodies banging together.

Straka won the puck. He fired it at an angle down the ice. It whizzed past the blue line and deflected off the boards. Dawes reached out with his stick to get the puck. So did O'Bannon. Dawes won the puck and started toward the Bruins zone. O'Bannon reached out with his stick to poke the puck away. Missed. He then swatted at Dawes' stick. Just as O'Bannon pulled his stick back, the blade caught Dawes' right leg. The Ranger winger went sprawling to the ice.

_Aw crap!_

The piercing shriek of a whistle tore through the air. O'Bannon lifted his head to the ceiling, eyes shut tight, his face twisted in frustration. He also heard the collective moan of 17,000 people.

"Sixty-One!" One of the referees skated up to him. "That's a trip. In the box."

"Dammit!" O'Bannon shook his head and followed the ref to the penalty box. He took a seat in the glass-encased booth across from the team benches.

"BOSTON BRUINS PENALTY, NUMBER 61, JIMMY O'BANNON, TWO MINUTES FOR TRIPPING," the PA announcer said. "TIME OF THE PENALTY, TWELVE MINUTES, FIVE SECONDS OF THE FIRST PERIOD. O'BANNON, TWO MINUTES FOR TRIPPING."

He bit his lip and stared out on the ice, hoping Boston could kill off the New York power play.

The Bruins won the opening face-off and tried to work it up ice. Too many Rangers around to go for a shot. Marco Sturm fired it around the boards as the Boston penalty killers got back on defense. New York worked it up ice, then formed into a loose crescent in the Bruins zone. Pass. Pass. Pass. Pass. Shot! Blocked by Tim Thomas. Zdeno Chara raced for the puck, then tried to clear it. Jaromir Jagr got it a couple feet past the blue line, came forward, and fired it toward the net. The puck sailed wide right and smacked against the boards. Boston's Aaron Ward and New York's Michal Rozsival fought for it. O'Bannon couldn't tell who hit the puck, but it skidded along the boards. Sturm got it and fired it down the ice for the clear.

"Yeah!" O'Bannon clapped his hands. So did the Bruins fans as the first penalty kill unit came off the ice, replaced by the second unit. The Rangers then deployed their second line. They worked the puck back up ice. New York's Chris Drury skated behind the net, Boston's P.J. Axelsson in pursuit. The Ranger center turned and stood alongside the net, trying for a wrap-around goal. Thomas denied him. Drury slapped at the puck. Thomas did the same with his stick. The puck popped out of the chaos and rolled a few feet away. Boston's Dennis Wideman got it fired it away.

The puck bounced off the body of New York's Brendan Shanahan, who passed it to Sean Avery. Stick and vulcanized rubber met with a harsh smack.

A deep horn blared through the arena. The red lamp behind the goal flashed. The other Ranger skaters crowded around Avery.

"Dammit!" O'Bannon thumped a fist on his leg, anger lines etching in his round face as he watched New York celebrate its power play goal.

The penalty box attendant opened the door and released O'Bannon. He slowly skated back toward his bench, just as the Rangers power play unit approached.

"Thanks for the help, Rookie."

He turned to find Sean Avery smirking at him. The winger then winked at him, chuckled and headed back to his bench.

_Asshole._ O'Bannon grunted. Just friggin' great. His very first NHL game, and what does he do? Take a penalty, put his team down a man, and watch the Rangers go up 1-0 on the man advantage.

Thankfully his teammates patted him on the helmet or shoulder, a few saying. "Don't worry, Rook. We'll get it back."

Metropolit did give him a tip or two about stick discipline, and also reassured him they'd tie it up.

O'Bannon spent the next minute trying to shove his penalty and the power play goal out of his mind. _It's hockey. This stuff happens. Get over it._

Much to his chagrin, the score remained 1-0 at the end of the first period. Back in the locker room, Coach Julien adjusted their attacks, told them they did well denying the Rangers shots at even strength, and added the need to stay away from penalties. O'Bannon swore some stares were aimed at him after that last one.

_Forget about it. We've got a whole new period coming up._

The second period began with the Bruins taking three shots on net within a span of forty seconds. Lundqvist stopped all of them. Two minutes later, New York went on the power play again when Boston's Dennis Wideman got called for high sticking. Unlike last time, the Bruins successfully killed the penalty.

O'Bannon's line hit the ice next. They were out there for only fifteen seconds before New York's Marty Straka got called for hooking. O'Bannon returned to the bench while the Bruins power play units took over. In two minutes they took two shots on net, both of which Lundqvist saved.

A ripple of nausea went through O'Bannon. _C'mon. We've gotta score._ He had a horrible vision of the headline in the sports section of tomorrow's _Boston Globe._ "Rookie's Screw-up Gives Rangers 1-0 Win."

He scowled. _No way. No way that's gonna happen._

Coach Julien sent out the third line. The Rangers had the puck. Sean Avery to Marc Staal to Chris Drury. Shot! Deflected by Thomas . . . right to O'Bannon. He took the puck past the blue line, then sent it over to Metropolit near the middle of the ice. To Lucic. To Lashoff. Into the Rangers zone. Pass to O'Bannon. He looked at the net. Staal had him blocked off. He passed to Lashoff behind him. To Lucic. Shot! Missed the net. It ricocheted along the boards. Avery went after it. So did O'Bannon. His eyes widened. Such a juicy target. He lined up for the hit.

_WHAM!_ His entire body shook as he crashed into the boards. Of Avery, he only got a piece of the winger's shoulder. Avery passed the puck to Jason Strudwick, who took it up ice.

A shrieking whistle pierced the air. Offsides against New York.

O'Bannon started toward the neutral zone when somebody bumped his shoulder. He turned, and scowled when he saw the smirking mug of Sean Avery next to him.

"You really showed the boards who's boss, didn't you?" The Ranger chuckled.

"Shut up," O'Bannon growled.

"Oooh, Rookie's got an attitude. Wanna drop the gloves and go?"

O'Bannon grunted and shook his head. He started to lengthen the distance between him and Avery. He'd watched this guy for years, and knew he had a talent for getting under people's skin and taking them out of their game. No way would he fall for that.

"Runnin' away, eh? Chicken. Maybe after the game you can send your girlfriend my way. Let her see what a real man's like."

O'Bannon stopped. _Did he just say . . . he and Mireet?_ His entire body trembled with rage. Nobody said something like that and . . .

_Remember what Coach said. This is what he wants._

He turned around. "I thought you were into goats, not girls."

Avery responded with laughter. "That the best you got?"

O'Bannon glowered at him before skating off. _Now I know why this guy's one of the most hated players in the NHL._

The second period ended with neither team scoring. Still 1-0 Rangers. Back in the locker room, Coach Julien told them to play relaxed. "We've got twenty minutes of hockey left. Plenty of time to get a couple goals and win this."

O'Bannon nodded, though worry and guilt flooded his insides. So far the only goal of the game came as a result of his tripping penalty. Paranoia clawed the back of his mind. Would he and Mireet not have to worry about finding a place to live in Boston? Would Coach Julien send him right back to Providence? Would he ever get another chance to play in the NHL?

_Worry about the game, then worry about yourself._

Both teams headed back to the ice for the third period. After three minutes of play, neither the Bruins nor Rangers had taken a shot. O'Bannon's line then went out. Lucic managed a shot on net, but got stopped by Lundqvist. The Rangers then rushed up ice with the puck, but O'Bannon's line blunted the attack before returning to the bench.

Boston had another power play opportunity , but couldn't get a single shot off during the entire two minutes. O'Bannon's line went out when both teams returned to full strength. They also couldn't get a shot on net. Their only saving grace was they denied the Rangers any shots on goal, too.

Defense continued to rule the day. Tim Thomas made an incredible stick save that brought the crowd, and everyone on the Bruins bench, including O'Bannon, to their feet, roaring their approval.

Lundqvist also made a highlight film save with under ten minutes left to play. The Rangers then came down ice and took a shot. Stopped by Thomas. A crowd formed in front of the net. They pushed one another, slapping at the puck. Three players tumbled against the net, dislodging it from its moorings. The refs blew their whistles.

"Third line, you're up!" hollered Coach Julien.

O'Bannon, Lucic and Metropolit hopped over the boards, along with the defenseman tandem of Lashoff and Ference. Facing them were Marc Staal and Dan Girardi on defense, with the line of Drury, Shanahan . . . and Avery. The guy smirked at O'Bannon, who did his best to ignore it.

Boston won the face-off. Metropolit passed it to Ference just behind him. They started up ice, Ference to Lashoff, then to O'Bannon, then cross ice to Lucic . . . who got smashed into the boards by Shanahan. He took the puck, skated back toward the Bruins zone, passed it to . . .

Intercepted by Metropolit! O'Bannon reversed direction, heading back toward the Rangers zone. They crossed the blue line. Metropolit was blocked out by Staal. Both skaters came round behind the net. O'Bannon set himself up in front of Lundqvist, trying to screen out the goalie.

Avery skated up behind him and shoved him. O'Bannon tried to push him away. Avery bumped him again. O'Bannon jabbed an elbow into guy's ribs.

Metropolit passed to Lashoff. He skated around O'Bannon and Avery and took the shot. Blocked by Lundqvist. Loose puck. O'Bannon jabbed at it. So did Avery, and Lashoff, and Shanahan, and Metropolit, and Staal. Bodies collided. O'Bannon felt shoulders and elbows jab him. He tried to ignore it, tried to fight for the puck.

Someone's skate blade kicked it away. Lundqvist slammed his glove down on the ice over the puck. The refs whistled the play dead.

The jostling continued. Metropolit had a fistful of Staal's jersey. Shanahan put a glove in Lashoff's face.

Avery grabbed hold of O'Bannon, pushing him against the side of the net.

"Geddoff!" O'Bannon rammed a hand into Avery's shoulder. The Ranger pushed him again. Whistles blew. Refs and linesmen injected themselves into the melee. O'Bannon swung his arm around, trying to get Avery in a headlock. Avery tried the same on him. Both men spun around as they wrestled.

O'Bannon's skate hit the back of the net. He fell, taking Avery with him. They continued wrestling on the ice until a referee and a linesman knelt beside them.

"That's enough! Break it up! I said break it up!"

The officials pulled them apart. O'Bannon got to his feet, fury and adrenaline gushing through his body. He didn't want to stop. He wanted to go at Avery until he ripped the guy's friggin' head off.

_Calm down, calm down, calm down. It's over. It's over._

He took several quick breaths to settle himself.

"Both of you, in the box, two minutes for roughing."

O'Bannon glared at Avery as they skated to the penalty box, the referee between them.

"I got you next time." Avery pointed at him. "I got you."

"Aw, suck it, you wanker!"

"Pipe down both of you and get in there!" ordered the ref.

O'Bannon took a seat as they closed the door to the box. He growled in frustration. His second penalty of the night. Though at least this time he took one of the Rangers with him. Four-on-four was a lot better than five-on-four.

For the first minute, neither team had much in the way of offensive opportunities. Then the Bruins made a push into the Rangers' end and took a shot, which Lundqvist blocked. The Rangers took it down to the Bruins' end. O'Bannon checked the clock. Thirty seconds until his penalty expired. The Rangers passed it around before they took a shot. It sailed past the net and hit off the boards. Glen Murray and Chris Drury both fought for it.

Fifteen seconds left on the penalty. Ten seconds. O'Bannon stood up and looked over to the Bruins bench. Coach Julien gave him hand signals to get ready to jump into the play the moment he got out of the box.

Murray won the puck. He passed it to Phil Kessel. Five seconds left. Kessel to Wideman. Four seconds . . . three seconds. Wideman back to Kessel. Kessel pushed it down ice into the neutral zone, toward the penalty boxes.

O'Bannon's chest tightened. _Oh my God. Oh my God._

The penalty clock hit zero. The door opened. O'Bannon darted onto the ice and got the puck.

There was nothing between him and the net except empty air.

He streaked down the ice. Henrik Lundqvist crouched, ready for the shot. O'Bannon's eyes scanned the net, looking for any opening. Not yet . . . not yet.

There! Just above Lundqvist's left shoulder.

He started to angle to his left, hoping the goalie would buy it. Lundqvist turned ever so slightly. The space above his shoulder looked like a yawning chasm to him.

From fifteen feet out, O'Bannon drew back his stick and launched the puck.

The horn blared. The red lamp flashed.

"YEAH!" O'Bannon threw his hands above his head. A thunderous roar filled the arena.

_I scored! Oh my God, I just scored!_

"YEAH!" He stopped just short of the glass, which several fans pounded on. Gary Glitter's classic song "Rock and Roll" blared from the speakers.

Someone clipped his shoulder. He turned to see Sean Avery skate by, glaring at him.

"That the best you got?" O'Bannon beamed at him as the four other Bruins skaters mobbed him.

"Way to go, kid!" Murray slapped his helmet.

"Great goal, Rookie!" Wideman pounded his back.

They skated back to the bench, his teammates still slapping him in congratulations, the crowd still screaming. High fives and hugs greeted him when he returned to the bench. Absolute joy consumed him. A lump formed in his throat. How many times since his childhood had he dreamed about this? Now he'd done it. He'd actually done it. He just scored a goal in an NHL game.

O'Bannon swallowed, stemming the flow of the tears of joy that threatened to spill out. He turned around and searched the stands for his family and friends. He found them, but couldn't tell if any of them spotted him.

"BOSTON BRUINS GOAL, THE FIRST OF HIS NHL CAREER, SCORED BY NUMBER 61, JIM-EEEEEEE O'BANNON!"

The crowd roared again. O'Bannon sat back, eyes closed, trying to make those words reverberate in his ears for as long as possible.

"ASSISTED BY NUMBER 81 PHIL KESSEL AND NUMBER SIX DENNIS WIDEMAN. TIME OF THE GOAL, FOURTEEN FORTY-EIGHT OF THE THIRD PERIOD. O'BANNON FROM KESSEL AND WIDEMAN."

Elation continued to flood through him. He wanted to stand up and scream his lungs out, run into the stands and hug every single person he knew. Hell, he even hug the people he didn't know, that's how happy he was.

"Settle down, Rookie," Glen Murray called to him from down the bench. "We still have to finish this one out."

"Huh? Oh. Oh yeah. You got it." Again he scolded himself. _You got a goal. Good for you. It won't matter a bit unless we win._

Two minutes later, O'Bannon watched as Zdeno Chara brought the puck past the blue line and passed it over to Marc Savard. Savard went behind the net and sent the puck toward Marco Sturm. He fired a one-timer that beat Lundqvist on the glove side. O'Bannon and the rest of the Bruins leapt to their feet and screamed, along with the 17,000 other people in the building, as they went up 2-1 over New York.

O'Bannon's line hit the ice one more time and kept the Rangers from taking a single shot on net. With 1:06 left, New York pulled Lundqvist out of the net and sent in an extra attacker. No one on the Bruins bench sat. They shouted and cheered and pounded the front of the boards as they watched Tim Thomas come up with three huge saves. O'Bannon jumped up and down and hollered as his eyes shifted from the action to the clock.

Thirty seconds . . . twenty seconds . . . ten seconds. Savard shot the puck the length of the ice. Five, four, three, two, one.

The horn wailed. The game was over, final score Boston 2, New York 1.

O'Bannon and the rest of the Bruins jumped onto the ice, exchanging hugs and handshakes amidst the thunderous applause of their fans. The team then gathered at center ice, hoisted their sticks to salute the crowd, then skated to the runway. One Bruin after another congratulated O'Bannon for his goal. The smile he wore threatened to consume his face. He'd watched so many of these guys on TV for years, cheering them on to victory. Now he actually helped get a victory for them. They were telling him, "good job."

Now, he was actually one of them.

"O'Bannon! O'Bannon!" one of the Bruins' attendants in the runway called out.

"Yeah?"

"You need to stay here. Thomas! Sturm! I need you, too. Three Stars."

O'Bannon's jaw dropped. What did that guy just say?

The PA announcer came on. "HERE ARE TONIGHT'S THREE STARS OF THE GAME AS VOTED ON BY THE MEMBERS OF THE LOCAL MEDIA IN ATTENDENCE. YOUR NUMBER THREE STAR, FROM THE BOSTON BRUINS, WITH ONE GOAL, THE FIRST OF HIS NHL CAREER, NUMBER 61, BOSTON'S OWN JIM-EEEEEE O'BANNON!"

He stood in the runway, frozen by shock, as the crowd cheered. _Number three star? A star of the game? Me?_

"Go. Go." The attendant prodded him.

O'Bannon shook his head and skated back out on the ice. He raised his stick, taking in the cheers, grinning from ear-to-ear.

_This is . . . I don't believe this. Oh God, please don't let this be a dream._

He turned around to head back to the runway, his eyes locked on one section in particular. He spotted Jared and Rosa cheering wildly. Mom and Mireet were hugging one another. Dad received a vigorous handshake from Mr. Weasley.

With his free hand, thumped his chest and pointed to them. His throat clenched, tears stinging his eyes. This was as much their victory as his, because where would he be without each and every one of those people in his life?

**XXXXX**

O'Bannon quickly showered and changed and walked right into a pack of reporters in the locker room, including Lee Jordan, who no doubt used a Perception Altering Charm to make himself look like a Muggle reporter. Once the interview was over – with O'Bannon thinking how cool it would be if this showed up on NHL Network or ESPN – Lee escorted him from the locker room.

"Brilliant job out there, Jimmy! Bloody brilliant!" Lee wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Your first NHL goal. You should have seen everyone in the stands. Your mum was jumping up and down like she was standing on a stove."

"Thanks, man. So where is everyone?"

"Oh, one of the Bruins people took them to a lounge just down the hall here. Come on."

Lee opened the door for him. The moment O'Bannon walked in, everyone broke out in applause and cheers. He started to get choked up again when Mireet pounced on him and gave him a long deep kiss. He heard a couple wolf whistles – it sounded like Jared and Terry Boot.

"I love you," Mireet said after their lips parted.

"I love you, too. And thank you for . . . for everything."

They kissed again. Jared and Rosa then bounded over and hugged him. Artimus joined them a second later.

"I knew it, man!" Jared bellowed. "I knew you were gonna go out there and kick some ass!"

"Literally, too." Rosa smiled. "Man, you took it to that Avery guy."

Next in the hug parade came Mom and Dad, both congratulating him and telling him how proud they were. His in-laws were next, followed by George.

"Well," the redhead began. "You always said you'd bring me to a Bruins game one day. I just never thought you'd be playing in it, mate."

"Well that makes two of us."

They both laughed and hugged one another.

One after another friends and family gave him hugs and congratulations; his grandparents, Dante Marshall, Harry and Ginny Potter, Ursa Oberlin, Mrs. Infante, Ron and Hermione Weasley, Jenna Rand, Tasanee, Susan Bones, Mirosalv Harkorth.

"You were awesome out there, Coach Jimmy!" Holly Juniper jumped on him and gave him a big hug.

"Thanks, kiddo. Oh, I'm so glad you could be here tonight."

After he let go of Holly, his father came over. "Jimmy, we're all heading back to the house to celebrate. Are you all wrapped up here with everything?"

"Yup. Let's go."

As everyone filed out of the lounge, O'Bannon took hold of Mireet's hand and pulled her aside.

"Jimmy, I'm so proud of you." She beamed at him. "You were fantastic out there tonight. I'm so . . ." She wiped at her eyes. "I'm so happy for you."

O'Bannon smiled and kissed her. "Thanks." He held both her hands and looked her in the eyes. "Remember what you said to me last night, well, technically early this morning. How I deserve to be on the same ice as those guys." He nodded in the direction of the rink. "How I earned the right to be here. You were right. I really do believe I belong here."

"I am glad to hear that."

He lifted her left hand and kissed it. "I love you. If it weren't for you I'd -"

"Jimmy, please." Mireet looked away.

"No, I'm gonna say it. If it weren't for you, what I did tonight would still be a dream. More like a daydream. You stuck by my side, you always believed in me."

"So do a lot of other people. Our parents, our friends. They all had faith in you. Now, let us go celebrate with them."

Hand-in-hand, they walked out of the lounge. He looked over at Mireet and smiled, then at the group of people further down the hall. He drew a deep breath and stared up, closing his eyes, thinking how far he had come over the last ten years. From war and depression and alcoholism, to having the most wonderful wife in the world, the most wonderful family and friends in the world, and a job that most people can only dream about.

Jimmy O'Bannon counted himself one very, very blessed man.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	46. The Responsible Party

**CHAPTER 46: THE RESPONSIBLE PARTY**

**

* * *

**_What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Diaz?_

Jared stepped out on the back porch of his father's house, staring out at the darkened woods in the distance. Nausea burned in his stomach. For a second, he feared the dinner he'd eaten barely an hour ago would come back up.

He glanced over his shoulder, listening to the muffled voices of family and friends still inside, all here for a final celebratory dinner before tomorrow's wedding.

_Tomorrow's wedding._ A shiver went through him that had nothing to do with the chilly early April air. It felt unreal to him. Tomorrow he would be a married man. Him!

He rubbed both hands over his face. _Am I ready for this? _He seemed so sure of himself when he proposed to Tasanee more than a year ago. But now . . .

The door opened behind him. He spun around to find Rosa stepping onto the back porch.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey," he muttered back.

Rosa's brow furrowed. She closed the door behind her and walked over to him. "Are you okay?"

Jared's eyes flickered in all directions but hers. "Uh . . . uh, yeah. Sure." He turned around and looked back out at the woods.

Rosa sighed as she sidled up next to him. "It's okay to be nervous about this."

"Huh?" He whipped his head toward her.

Rosa snorted. "Oh please. I remember what nervous wrecks Artimus and Jenna were before their wedding. Same with Jimmy and Mireet, and Harry and Ginny."

Jared chewed on his lip. He wanted to deny it, but knew it would be no use. Even he knew he couldn't hide how nervous he felt.

He sighed. "Me and Tasanee have been goin' together, what, almost four years now? I don't know, maybe I thought being married to her would be just like things are now, only we'd be living under the same roof and she'd have a ring on her finger to make it official. But . . . I don't know. When I look at Esteban and Oriana, or Art and Jenna, it's like, it hits me. I have to be responsible for another person. I have to make sure I work hard so we have a nice place to live. And then . . . Merlin's beard, and then I start thinking about what if we have children? I mean . . . man, this is a big deal here."

"Of course it's a big deal," Rosa said. "It's marriage."

"I know that, but . . . but now that it's looking me in the face, I'm starting to think more and more about Rodolfo and Hector and it's like, do I have it in me to be a father? I mean a good father, like yours and mine." Jared stared back out at the woods, shaking his head. "I think about all those times my parents, or your parents, lectured me to do something, and I'd run right out and do the opposite. Or when one of our teachers at Salem yelled at me, and I just rolled my eyes and thought, 'Get off my case.' What if Jared, Junior is like that? What if he doesn't listen to anything I say? What if he doesn't have any respect for me? What if . . . what if I mess up so bad my kid becomes a dark wizard?"

"Okay, I think you're going overboard here."

"Am I? C'mon, we both know that not every Death Eater came from families who had snakes tattooed on their arms."

"Jared." Rosa put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure you'll be a great father."

He responded with a sardonic laugh. "Great father. I'm wondering if I'll even make a half-way decent husband."

"You have to stop beating yourself up like this." Rosa's voice became firmer. "You haven't even said your 'I dos' yet and you're already setting yourself up for failure."

"I just don't want to let Tasanee down, okay? I mean she is . . . she is the most awesome witch on the planet. Sometimes . . . sometimes I don't even know if I deserve her."

"Oh bullcrap." Rosa stepped right in front of him. "You _both _deserve one another. And you guys love one another, and that's why things are going to work out between you and Tasanee."

"Heh! I hope you're right."

"I am right, and you know it. Jared, I have never, in my entire life, seen you feel this way about any other woman. And I know Tasanee thinks the world of you. If that's not the foundation for a good marriage, then what is?"

"Well, Esteban and Oriana had a foundation like that, too, and look what happened to them."

"That was because of the war." Rosa flung out her arms. "And they worked out all their problems, and their marriage is as good as ever."

"Yeah, they worked it out. What if something bad happens between me and Tasanee and we don't work it out? I don't want to hurt her, and I don't want to fail her like I've done everyone else."

"Everyone else?" Rosa's face scrunched in a puzzled look. "What are you talking about?"

"C'mon, Rosa. Like I said, marriage is a big responsibility, and you know how well I've handled responsibility in the past."

"Believe it or not, I think you handled it pretty well."

Jared choked on a laugh. "Well we both know that's a lie. I mean, after my mom died, and Dad was all depressed, I just stood back and hoped you or Esteban or Oriana could help him. Then when you couldn't, what did I do? I ran off to Thailand and he got worse."

"Jared." Rosa sighed. "You know back then none of us were in our right minds."

"Maybe, but what if something like that pops up between me and Tasanee and I run out on her, too? She doesn't deserve that." The corners of his mouth curled. "She deserves better than that."

Rosa groaned and rolled her head. "Well that's a nobly idiotic thing of you to say." She reached out and grasped both his shoulders. "Jared, you may feel you've avoided responsibility all your life, and sometimes you have. But not when it really, really mattered."

"Like?"

"Like the war. You didn't sit on the sidelines and hope for the best. You picked up your wand and dove right into the thick of it. Even when things got as bad as they could possibly get, you stuck with me and Jimmy and Artimus and Mireet every single step of the way. And that's why I have faith in you that you are going to be the best husband possible for Tasanee, and be the best father possible to however many kids you have."

Jared's eyes widened. "_You _have faith in _me? _When the hell did that happen?"

Rosa bit her lower lip and looked down.

_Oh crap. _Jared tensed. He knew that look. It was the, "I'm going to say something sentimental," look.

"I've always had faith in you," Rosa said.

He drew his head back in astonishment. "Seriously?"

"Yes, and you want to know why?"

Jared nodded, and Rosa continued. "It's because, if you take away that year or two after the war, this family could always count on you."

"Oh come on," he scoffed. "You can really -"

"Will you just hear me out?" Rosa cut him off. "You love our family. You've fought for our family, supported them. When I look back on the war, when we were in the Appalachians protecting the children, if you hadn't been there with me, I don't know how I would have gotten through it."

"You would have gotten through just fine, Rosa. You're one of the strongest people I know."

"You know why I was strong? Because I knew if things got really bad, you'd always had my back. I've always felt that way, ever since we were kids." A small grin formed on Rosa's lips. "You remember Bentley Baronhoff?"

Jared's face twisted in a scowl. "That fart sniffer you dated during our Fourth Year? You bet I remember him." Actually, they had done more than date. Bentley had been the first guy his cousin had really, _really_ been in love with.

"Remember when I found out he was cheating on me with that little skank Tiffany Finrow? I came into your room, crying my eyes out. I saw the look on your face and . . . I don't think I've ever seen you so mad in my life. You stormed out of the room, Jimmy right behind you, and you tore up and down the campus until you found Bentley and messed him up good."

Jared briefly chuckled. "Yeah. Yeah, I got him good. So did Jimmy. We got in a bunch of trouble for it. Headmistress Esmeralda chewed my ass out, but I didn't care. That craphead Bentley did you dirt, and I wasn't gonna let him get away with it."

"And that's why I know you'll do good by Tasanee. If you're going to fight for me like that, I don't have any doubt you'd do the same for your wife."

He chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Yeah. Yeah, I would."

Rosa rubbed Jared's arm. "You're a good man, Jared, and I know you'll be a good husband for Tasanee."

A smile flickered across his lips. "Thanks, Cuz." He hugged Rosa, who kissed his cheek and squeezed him tight.

"Now c'mon. Let's go inside." She patted him and the shoulder and started for the door.

"Um, Rosa? Um, wait a sec."

She turned to him. "What is it?"

Jared looked left, then right, then let out a slow breath through his teeth. "I, um . . . I just wanted to say thanks."

She smiled at him. "Don't mention it. You looked like you had something big on your mind."

"I don't mean for this. Well, not just for this. I mean, thanks for everything, for all the times you talked to me and gave me advice and . . . and even those times you got on my ass when I screwed up. You've . . . you've always been there for me, and I . . . I, um . . . I just wanted to say, you know . . . I love you." Those last three words came out so fast and so soft he wondered if Rosa heard them.

By the surprised look on her face, she did. "J-Jared. I . . . I . . ." She just stood there, gaping at him. Jared wondered if he should have said it. Rosa was his cousin, after all. More like a sister than a cousin, really. She ought to know he loved her. He didn't need to say it out loud, did he?

Rosa's jaw clenched. She strode over to him and threw her arms around him.

"I love you, too." Her voice quivered as they hugged. When they released one another, she smirked at him. "It's nice to see you getting in touch with your feminine side."

"Shut up." He shook his head, then chuckled.

They headed back into the house, each with an arm around the other's shoulders. Jared felt his confidence begin to rise. He thought back to the incident with Bentley Baronhoff, and the time at Hogwarts castle when he saved Jimmy from the aurors that had been pursuing him. He also remembered The Battle of Ovenderburg, the altered Chupacabra, The Appalachians, The Battle of Helghorst Island. Hell yes, he'd been afraid. But he never ran out on his friends when they needed him the most.

_But that was fighting. Fighting's easy. Marriage . . ._

He glanced over at Rosa and clenched his jaw. He prayed her faith in him wasn't misplaced.

**XXXXX**

Of all the stupid things that could have gone through Jared's mind on the day of his wedding, he never imagined a scene from a Muggle movie would be one of them.

_Animal House._ He'd watched it years ago during a stay at Jimmy's house, the summer before he went to Hogwarts. It had to be one of the raunchiest, most insane movies he'd ever seen. Naturally, he loved it.

The scene that stuck out in his mind was the one where one of the college guys stood over a drunken girl, with a little angel and a little devil on each shoulder, debating whether or not to deflower the girl. That's how he felt now as he stood under the huge tent set up on the lawn of his father's home, over a hundred people in their seats waiting for him and Tasanee to be wed.

None of them could see inside his head, see the imaginary little devil and little angel chatting away.

_Tasanee's gonna expect you to provide for her, to help her when she needs it, to put her first, and any kids you have. Are you ready for that?_

_But you love Tasanee. She's beautiful, smart, caring. She even saved your life back in Thailand._

His stomach flipped over. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He had to put effort into just breathing.

_Don't puke. Don't faint. Oh Merlin, can I really do this?_

Martial music played. The bridesmaids came down the aisle in their silver robes. Behind them was Tasanee. Jared's chest tightened as he fixed his gaze on her. She wore a strapless blue cotton gown with gold trim and gold stars dotting the front. Her hair was pulled back. No veil adorned her head, but she did wear a gold necklace and golden star-shaped earrings.

_Merlin's beard, she looks gorgeous. _

_What if I mess this marriage up?_

_You won't. Rosa has faith in you._

But did he have faith in himself?

He kept his eyes locked on Tasanee as she neared the altar. He felt more sweat drench his forehead. His heart slammed against his chest.

_It's not too late to run. _

_Think of how Tasanee will feel if you do that._

_Think of how you'll feel._

Tasanee reached the altar and smiled at him. Not her usual bright smile, but a nervous one. He gave his own shaky smile in return.

They turned to the altar, and instead of standing, they both knelt down. The wizarding spiritual advisor used his wand to gently wrapp a chain of flowers around Jared's and Tasanee's hands. He then levitated a conch shell filled with water for the couple and their closest family members and friends to soak their hands in as a sign of good luck. It had required a bit of work to combine elements of a traditional American wedding with Thai wedding customs. The thought made Jared glance down at his own formal dress robes. All white. Even now it just didn't look natural, a groom wearing something other than black. But to Thais, black was what you wore at a funeral. Wearing it at a wedding invited bad luck.

He dipped his hands into the conch shell, looking at the flower chain connecting his hands with Tasanee's. He drew another staggered breath as the reality set in. Minutes from now, he'd be married. Minutes from now, he would share his life with another person. Doubts raced through his mind. Did he really know what marriage meant? Did he have enough brains and maturity to be a husband? Did he really have it in him to be a father?

_Just get up, say you're sorry, and leave. That simple._

He looked over at Tasanee as the conch shell floated in front of Jimmy. The image of himself getting up and leaving formed in his mind. _"Sorry, everyone. But I'm not ready for this."_

Then he walked out of the tent and . . . and he would not have Tasanee in his life.

His jaw tightened. The last four years spooled through his mind. The vast majority of those scenes had him with Tasanee, working side-by-side at some dig site, eating meals together, visiting their respective families, being intimate, talking about anything and everything, sharing things with her that he would never share with anyone, not even Rosa.

Then, of course, there was the time she saved his life when he overindulged in the Daydream Charm. Or before then, when he kept pushing her away when she just wanted to help him. He said horrible things to her, made her cry. Yet she still helped him, forgave him, loved him.

_Face it, man. You don't have any life without this witch in it._

"Jared."

The voice of the Wizarding spiritual advisor broke through his reverie. Jared snapped his head toward the man standing over him and his bride.

"Do you take Tasanee to be your wife, for rich or for poor, in sickness and in health, in good times and bad, till death do you part?"

He took a breath and held it. Slowly, he rotated his head from the spiritual advisor to Tasanee. She met his gaze and smiled. Bolts of energy shot through his body. He swallowed, never wanting to take his eyes off this beautiful, wonderful woman.

In his imagination, he pictured himself looking at the little devil on his shoulder. The red-clad creature jumped up and down, screaming at him to run.

"_Piss off." _Jared saw himself flicking his index finger and sending the little devil flying across the tent.

He released his breath. A smile spread across his face. "I do."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	47. New Blood

**CHAPTER 47: NEW BLOOD**

**

* * *

**_LOCATION: Ashton, Rhode Island, USA_

_TIME FRAME: Eight years following the events of the previous chapter._

_

* * *

_

The sun hadn't even come up yet when Rosa Infante began her morning routine. Stretches. Sit-ups. Free weights. A thirty minute run along the banks of the Blackston River. By the time she returned to her small log cabin, she was drenched with sweat. She went inside and hopped in the shower. Ten minutes later she stepped out feeling refreshed. She wiped the fog from the mirror, started to dry herself off, then studied her reflection. A smile flickered on her lips.

_Yup. Closing in on my mid-thirties and still looking good._

The smile turned into a frown. Still looking good, yet still single.

Rosa snorted and finished toweling herself off. The image of a man formed in her mind, a tall young man with smooth, angular features and a solid, stout frame. She sighed, staring at the tiled bathroom floor, recalling her eight months with Zach Rader. She berated herself on two fronts. One, if she had been too hasty breaking up with him. Two, wondering what the heck she was thinking getting involved with someone like him. Not that Zach had been a bad guy. To the contrary, he was nice, funny, daring. They had some great times together.

He'd also been twenty-one, and fresh out of auror training. At first, she thought it was awesome dating a man much younger than her. Sometimes, when they were alone, she found herself acting the way she had when she'd been a teenager, and she enjoyed it. And the sex! Merlin's beard, Zach could go all friggin' night long. Afterward, when he held her in his arms, she never wanted to leave their bed.

Then came the times when their age difference reared its ugly head. Zach still had a lot of maturing to do. "Merlin's beard, you're worse than Jared was when he was your age," she'd tell him during some of their arguments. She scowled every time she said it. That line made her sound . . . old.

There were also the times when she discussed the war with him. She'd mention a particular battle or mission she'd been involved with and he'd say, "Oh yeah, I remember that. I read about it in one of my history books at school."

_I'm in history books now?_ Forget old. That made her sound positively ancient!

Then she learned from Jimmy that Muggles had a name for older women who liked to date younger guys. "Cougar."

"But don't worry," he had told her. "Most of those women are a good ten years older than you are."

Yeah, that made her feel much better.

It had not been a pleasant break-up. She really did care about Zach, and it tore her heart to pieces to see the hurt look on his face when she ended things with him. But it was for the best. Much as she liked being with him, she couldn't see any sort of future for them.

That had happened two months ago, and after all that time, Rosa had, almost, fully convinced herself she'd been right.

She put on her auror robes, then ate breakfast while listening to the Wizard Broadcasting Network's morning news and glancing at _The All-Seeing Eye._ A teacher and six of his students at the Boltzek Magical Academy in Texas had been arrested for forming a group called the Cult of Voldemort.

_Merlin's beard, that SOB's been dead for fourteen years and there are still nutjobs out there who worship him._

The Canadian Ministry of Magic was seriously considering legislation that would lead to the emancipation of that country's house elves.

_That'd be good. I just hope they don't turn out to be as surly as our servant elves._

In Quidditch news, the losing streak of the Chicago Celestials reached 45 games with last night's 440-110 drubbing by the Phoenix Fire Eaters.

_Chicago._ Rosa shook her head. _That team has sucked since I was in diapers. _

When she finished eating and cleaning up the table, she walked over to her fireplace and just stood in front of it. She leaned back, looking at myriad of framed, interconnected photos that formed a huge, magically-balanced picture tree. This, too, had become one of her morning rituals since her break-up with Zach. She didn't even know how exactly it happened. A few days after things ended between them, she looked up at all those photos and got this . . . feeling.

Her eyes flickered from one photo to the next, the focus always on the children. Her kids, she sometimes whimsically thought of them. Why not? Most of them called her Aunt Rosa.

She spotted a photo of Jimmy and Mireet with their son Robert, posed around the Stanley Cup Jimmy won with the Bruins two years ago. She smiled, thinking of Mireet, and how she was a month away from giving birth to their second child.

Next she saw Jared and Tasanee with their two children. Ratana, with her exotic blend of Hispanic and Thai features. A few years from now Jared would have to erect a constant Shield Charm around her to keep the boys away. Standing next to Ratana and making faces, much to his mother's dismay, was Miguel.

_Yeah. He's gonna turn out to be just like his father, I can feel it._

She continued up and down the picture tree. Artimus and Jenna with their two boys, Hector and Trajan, and their daughter Deirdre. Esteban and Oriana with their sons Rodolfo and Francisco. Harry and Ginny with their sons James and Albus and their daughter Lily. Ron and Hermione, with son Hugo and daughter Rose. Daedalus and Kyon Drunkenmiller with their one-year-old daughter Tiela.

_Jeez, now the kids we protected during the war have kids of their own._

Again, the feeling hit her. She bit her lip as she scanned the children in the photos. Sometimes she couldn't believe she felt this way. For most of her life she'd been adamant about never having children. But now . . .

The Muggles had a term for it, she learned from Jenna. "Biological Clock." Hers, apparently, was ticking loudly. More and more, she couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to go from being called "Aunt Rosa" to being called "Mom."

_I might know by now if . . ._

She groaned. _Merlin's beard, am I ever going to get over this?_

Rosa stared at a photo on one of the "branches" on the left side. It showed a tall redheaded man smiling wide, his arms wrapped around the waist of a short witch with dark skin and her long hair in braids. George Weasley, with his fiancé Branwen Shacklebolt, the niece of Britain's former Minister of Magic. She was happy he had found someone to share his life with, for the most part. Another part of her bubbled with regret whenever she thought of those two together.

_Why did I just settle for being friends with him? Why didn't I try harder to start over with him? Maybe . . ._

_Mrs. Rosa Weasley would have sounded nice._

She frowned. Nothing she could do about it now, expect kick herself in the ass. She just had to accept that George Weasley would always be the one who got away.

_Dammit._

Deciding she had enough of the self-pit party, Rosa turned away from the photo tree and marched outside past the wards surrounding her cabin. She closed her eyes and Apparated.

Moments later she found herself standing in front of a triple-decker house in Boston's Mission Hill. The wooden sign hanging above the front door read, HEADQUARTERS FOR AUROR OPERATIONS: NEW ENGLAND REGION.

She headed for the door, casting away her thoughts about husbands and children she'd never have, focusing on the work that awaited her. An old Death Eater had been sighted New Hampshire. Two of her aurors were working undercover to root out a network of wizards and witches dealing in dark objects. She prayed they were all right and –

"Excuse me," a quivering, female voice said to her.

Rosa turned. A short, plump, gray-haired witch in orange and black robes stood beside a tree on the sidewalk. Rosa noticed instantly the moisture in her eyes.

"Can I help you?"

The old witch sniffled. "Are you an auror?"

"Yes. Yes I am." Rosa took a step toward her, her hand just a few inches from her wand, just in case.

"Oh good, good. I need your help. It's my nephew. He's been attacked. The healers won't admit it, but I know. Seeing him . . ." She wiped her eyes with a tissue. "Seeing him like that, I know someone did something to him."

"Why don't you follow me inside Ms. . . ."

"Abernathy. Eos Abernathy."

Rosa gave the witch a warm smile and led her into the building. They proceeded to an office on the third floor where the nameplate read, ROSA INFANTE: DIRECTOR OF AUROR OPERATIONS, NEW ENGLAND REGION.

"Rosa Infante?" Ms. Abernathy's eyes widened. "Are you . . . are you the daughter of the former Secretary of Magic?"

"Yes, I am."

"Oh thank Merlin. I know you'll be able to help me."

"I'll do my best. Please, come in. Have a seat." She waved the old witch into her office, then sat at her desk. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?"

"No. No thank you."

Rosa nodded, grabbed a blank piece of parchment and dipped her quill into an ink bottle. "Now, you said your nephew was attacked?"

"Yes."

"And what's his name?"

"Terrance. Terrance Abernathy. He's nineteen."

Rosa wrote it down. "And do you know who attacked him?"

"No. No I don't."

"How exactly was he attacked?"

"He . . . well, it's complicated."

The tip of Rosa's quill hovered over the parchment. She gave Ms. Abernathy a curious look. Was this witch on the level?

She gazed at Ms. Abernathy more closely. The tears in her eyes, her sagging face, her slumped shoulders, the way she crushed her tissue. The witch was genuinely upset. In her experience, very few people could fake emotions like that.

"Just tell me the best you can," Rosa said. "How was your nephew attacked?"

"Well, it started about four days ago. Terrance didn't go to work."

"And where does he work?"

"Colbert's Cauldron Company. He's an inspector there. When he didn't come in for his shift, his boss owled me. I went to check on him, and . . . and . . ." Ms. Abernathy's face scrunched up, like she was trying not to cry.

"Yes?" Rosa gently prodded her. "What did you find?"

Ms. Abernathy took a ragged breath. "He was throwing a fit. Thrashing around, screaming, babbling."

"What did he say?"

"It was incoherent mostly. But sometimes he yelled to not let them get him."

"Who didn't he want to get him?"

"I don't know. Like I said, he was babbling like mad. I took him to the Lonbiddy Wizarding Hospital. The healers there said he was having nightmares, both when he was asleep and awake."

Rosa tensed. She knew full well the dangers of dreaming gone horribly wrong.

Ms. Abernathy's face twisted, half in sorrow, half in anger. "They kept saying that he was probably experimenting with dream-based curses, or got hold of something like an atrasom stone."

Rosa raised a thin eyebrow at that. Atrasom stones came from the darkest, dankest bogs in the world. Their beautiful, brilliant colors tempted people to pick them up and stare at them. That's when they brought to life their greatest dreams and desires. But after a day or so, those dreams turned into nightmares, nightmares that haunted them every hour of every day.

"Did he have an atrasom stone?" Rosa asked. "Or did he experiment with those curses like the healers said?"

"No. No, no, no. Terrence doesn't like the Dark Arts. He's terrified of them. He didn't even like going to Defense Against the Dark Arts class when he was at Salem."

"So you think someone put a curse on him, or slipped him some dark object without his knowledge?"

"Yes." Ms. Abernathy nodded emphatically. "That has to be it."

"All right. So that means your nephew has to have some enemies. Do you know who they might be?"

"Enemies? No, not Terrance."

"Are you sure? Was there anyone he was having problems with at work?"

"No." Ms. Abernathy shook her head.

"What about when he was at school? Were there other kids he didn't get along with? Kids who might hold some kind of grudge beyond graduation?"

"No. Nobody bothered Terrance at Salem. He was . . . he's always been a shy boy. He doesn't have very many friends. In fact, most people just ignore him."

"Mm-hmm." Rosa nodded. She knew from her own time at Salem that those shy kids were a favorite target of bullies.

_And if Terrance was bullied, he might keep it to himself, for fear of looking like a disappointment to his family._

_Family . . ._

"Ms. Abernathy, you said you were Terrance's aunt. What about his parents? Where are they?"

The old witch drew a slow breath before speaking. "They both died when he was very young. I'm the only family he has."

"So no brothers or sisters?"

"No."

"And how did Terrance's parents die?"

Ms. Abernathy shifted slightly in her chair. "During the war. Death Eaters attacked the town where they lived."

Rosa jotted that down. She had a couple other questions in mind, but decided to save them for later. "Well, Ms. Abernathy, what happened to your nephew definitely deserves further investigation. I'm going to personally look into this, see what I can find, and do my best to help your nephew and find the person responsible for this."

The old witch's face lit up. "Oh, bless you, dear. Bless you. Please, you have to help Terrance. He's never hurt anyone in his life. He doesn't deserve this."

"I know. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Why don't you go home and try to get some rest? If I have any news, I'll tell you as soon as possible, okay?"

"Okay. Thank you. Thank you so much."

Rosa walked Ms. Abernathy outside and into a small courtyard behind the triple-decker. She waved good-bye to the old witch as she Apparated. For several seconds, Rosa stared at the spot where Ms. Abernathy had just stood. She thought back to the interview, noting those pauses when she asked about Terrance's parents. To the average person, such pauses would mean nothing. To her they spoke volumes.

Eos Abernathy was hiding something.

**XXXXX**

Rosa Apparated to the Lonbiddy Wizarding Hospital in Boston, and confirmed that Terrance Abernathy was a patient there, and that he did suffer from never-ending nightmares. Currently, the young man slept, albeit a restless sleep. Rosa told the healer assigned to him she would be back later, when he was awake and she could talk to him.

"Good luck," said the healer. "Trust me, there's no way you can hold a conversation with this boy."

Rosa just nodded, and told the healer to owl her office as soon as Terrance woke up. While his condition might prevent her from speaking to him, she had other ways of getting information from him that didn't involve talking.

Meantime, she decided to start getting some background information on Terrance Abernathy.

_And the best place to start with that is . . ._

**XXXXX**

The Salem Witches Institute. Rosa stood rooted to the spot as the gates to the school swung open. She breathed deep as she scanned the campus; the rolling lawns, the colonial-style buildings that housed the classrooms and the dorms, the Quidditch field and the hockey rink, the barn-like structure of the Communal Hall. Memories flooded her mind. She saw herself as a wide-eyed, excitable little ten-year-old who couldn't wait to start casting spells. A smile grew on her face as she thought of being with her cousin Jared, becoming friends with Jimmy and Artimus, the hockey games, the boyfriends, she and her friends having practice duels behind Blazenrowe Hall.

Other, more serious memories, cropped up. Battling Death Eaters in Ovenderburg. Trying to convince everyone Voldemort had returned. Going to England to warn the Order of the Phoenix about the Longathian Tunnel.

_It doesn't seem like all that long ago, does it?_

She closed her eyes, shooing away the memories of her school days. _Focus on the mission._

Even though Headmistress Esmeralda had retired three years ago, a few of the faculty and staff from her time as a student here remained. She decided to start with her old History of Magic teacher, Miss Venatici.

_Correction. Mrs. Fulminata. She's married now._

_Everyone's married except me._

Miss Venatici – or rather, Mrs. Fulminata – was overjoyed to see Rosa, hugging her and congratulating her on being director of auror operations in New England.

"Thank you, Miss Vena . . . er, Mrs. Fulminata. But unfortunately, I'm not here to socialize. I'm investigating an attack on one of your former students. Do you remember a Terrance Abernathy?"

"Hmm." The teacher scrunched her face in thought. "Um . . . yes. I remember Terrance. Just barely, though. Is he all right?"

"Unfortunately, no. He's suffering from never-ending nightmares. I think he might have been cursed by someone."

"Oh, how dreadful. That poor boy. I hope they find some way to help him."

"Thanks. Um, Miss Ven . . . Mrs. Fulminata, what can you tell me about Terrance when you had him as a student? Is there anything about him that sticks out in your mind?"

"Unfortunately, no. He was always a very quiet, shy boy. There were some times I tried to get him to open up, but nothing I did worked."

"Do you know if anyone picked on him lot?"

"Not that I was aware of. It's sad to say, but I think most people just ignored Terrance."

Rosa thanked Mrs. Fulminata for her time. Her former teacher hugged her good-bye, then told her how proud she was of everything she had accomplished since she had graduated from Salem.

"Thank you. That really means a lot. And thanks for everything you did for me. You really were one of my favorite teachers here."

"Oh, Rosa. Thank you. That's so sweet of you to say."

They hugged again before Rosa left the classroom. Her next stop was the office of Mr. Tellmark, who still taught Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"Actually, I do remember Terrance Abernathy," the teacher told her. "But that's only because he missed handing in a lot of his assignments. I had him in my office a few times to tell him he needed to do the required classwork if he wanted to pass this course. Funny thing is, every time I had him in my office, he always seemed . . . nervous for some reason."

"Most kids are nervous when they're in their teacher's office," Rosa pointed out.

"True, but I don't think it had anything to do with me. I always had a sense Terrance was terrified of the Dark Arts. I told him once he should use that as motivation to learn how to defend himself against it, but he never heeded that advice. To be honest, I don't think he wanted anything to do with Dark Arts, defense or otherwise."

Rosa nodded. That confirmed what Ms. Abernathy said about her nephew's attitude toward the subject.

After she finished with Mr. Tellmark, she trekked across campus to the Potions classroom, a grimace on her face the entire time. Of all the teachers still around from her school days, why did Mr. Korvette have to be one of them? She'd only had him for one year, her Seventh. It proved to be one year too many.

"Terrance Abernathy? Never heard of him," Mr. Korvette told her in his usual gruff manner.

"He had to have been in your Potions classes. You may not remember him because he was a really shy student. He didn't do anything to stick out or get noticed."

"Then why would I remember someone like that? Do you think I keep track of the names of every student that comes through my class? If it weren't for the fact your father used to be Secretary of Magic, I probably would have forgotten your name already."

Rosa scowled. _Well this is a waste of time. _She mumbled a, "Thanks for your time," to her former Potions teacher – not really meaning it – and left his classroom. With most other people, she might think they were being deliberately uncooperative. Not Mr. Korvette. The guy genuinely didn't like any of his students.

_I doubt he likes anyone period._

She talked with other teachers, and the ghosts that haunted Salem. All had the same story. Terrance Abernathy was a quiet boy who spent all seven years at Salem in the background. He didn't bother anyone, and nobody bothered him. She then went to the Administration Building and pulled Terrance's files. He had received detention a few times, always for not doing his DADA homework. Other than that, he had not been a discipline problem.

She checked his grades. DADA was filled with Poor and Dreadful marks. His other classes mainly had grades of Acceptable. Definitely not someone who applied himself. He just put in enough of an effort to pass his other classes. Nothing more.

The activities section was blank. No sports, no clubs, no nothing. All in all, Terrance Abernathy had been a rather unremarkable student at the Salem Witches Institute.

_So why would someone target a boy like this?_

She went back to her earlier theory. Bullies would salivate over someone like Terrance. _But would they keep at him after graduation?_

Right now it was the best lead she had. The teachers and the ghosts may not have any knowledge of Terrance being bullied, but they wouldn't be around him 24/7. The only people who would be were other students.

Rosa checked Terrance's file again, and found out he had stayed in Jingosocke Hall. She got a list of all the students who had resided in that dorm during Terrance's seven years here, highlighting the names of those who had been in the same class with him. But she wouldn't start with any of them. The first former student she'd talk to would be one she knew very well. In fact, she had known this boy since the day he was born.

**XXXXX**

"Rosa? What are you doing here?"

"Hey, Rodolfo," Rosa replied as her little cousin hurried around his desk and hugged her.

_Little._ She mentally scoffed at the word. Rodolfo Diaz was anything but little any more. At eighteen-years-old, he had a tall, thick build, his curly black hair reaching near his shoulders. Still, she sometimes found it hard to believe that little boy who used to run all around her parents' house or her aunt and uncle's house whenever Esteban and Oriana brought him over was now all grown up and working for the Department of Magic's Bureau for the Management of Magical Creatures.

"I hope I'm not interrupting your work," she said.

"No way." Rodolfo gave her a dismissive wave. "I'm just doing evaluations on the latest candidates for security trolls. Real exciting stuff." He rolled his eyes. "Then again, like Dad and Grandpop say, I gotta pay my dues before I can go out in the field."

Rosa couldn't help but smile, thinking of how bad Rodolfo wanted to follow in Uncle Irving's shoes and be a member of SMACRAT.

"Just keep working hard, and your chance will come."

"I know. I will. So what brings you to my itty bitty office today?"

"I'm working on a case, and I need your help."

Rodolfo's jaw dropped. "You need my help on a case? Cool."

"Don't get so excited. You're not going to be fighting dark wizards alongside of me. I need some information on one of your old classmates at Salem. Terrance Abernathy. He was in Jingosocke Hall when you were there. He would have been a year ahead of you."

"Terrance Abernathy?" Rodolfo leaned back in his seat. "Terrance Abernathy? Yeah, I remember him now. Real shy kid. Why are you interested in him?"

"I think someone might have cursed him. He's at Lonbiddy Hospital suffering from never-ending nightmares."

Surprise flashed across Rodolfo's face. "Seriously? Damn, why would someone want to do that to him?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out. Do you know if Terrance was bullied a lot when you were at Salem?"

"No." Rodolfo shook his head. "I never saw anyone pick on him. Heck, I think most of the kids at school barely even talked to him."

"What about you?"

"Sometimes I said 'hi' to him if we passed each other in the halls or in the parlor. He barely even nodded to me when I did."

"Do you know who his friends were?" Rosa asked. "Who he hung out with?"

Rodolfo sighed. "I never saw anyone talk to him. I'm sorry, Rosa, but honestly, most of us didn't pay much attention to that kid. It wasn't like we were being mean to him or anything, it's just . . . he never talked, he never made an effort to make friends. I mean, Terrance was almost like a living, breathing invisibility cloak."

"So no friends, and I guess you didn't know anything about his family, either?"

"Not a clue. Like I said, he never talked to anyone. He was probably the shiest kid at Salem."

"I knew plenty of shy kids when I was at Salem, Artimus included. No matter how shy they were, they still had at least a small circle of friends. But Terrance . . ." Rosa shook her head. "I don't know. It's like he deliberately went out of his way to not be noticed." The corners of her mouth curled. "Now this case is really starting to bug me."

"How so?" Rodolfo asked.

Rosa crossed her arms. "You've got a kid who has no friends, who was barely an average student at school, so I doubt anyone would be jealous of his grades. This is a kid who does nothing to stand out from the crowd. So why would someone target him with a curse that gave him nightmares all day and all night?"

Rodolfo shrugged. "Maybe he did it to himself. Maybe he liked to experiment with dark magic stuff behind closed doors."

Rosa shook her head. "No. Everything I've learned about Terrance indicates he was terrified of the Dark Arts."

"Then maybe it's just some nutjob of a wizard or witch who cursed him just for the hell of it."

"A random attack? Maybe, but . . . I don't know. Something just doesn't feel right about this."

Rodolfo frowned. "Sorry, Rosa. I wish I could have been more help."

"Don't worry about it. In fact, you may have helped me, if only to make me more suspicious about what happened with Terrence."

Rosa got up, as did Rodolfo. The two hugged.

"Good luck with your case," he told her. "I know you'll solve it."

"Thanks. Give my love to your mom and dad and Francisco."

"Will do."

With one last smile to her cousin, Rosa left his office and used of the Department's Floo portals to return to Boston. She assigned two of her aurors to check out Terrence Abernathy's apartment in Milmothryn Market for any sign of dark objects. She was just about to get more aurors to interview Terrence's former classmates when an owl arrived from Lonbiddy Hospital, informing her Terrence was awake.

When she Apparated to the hospital, a nurse escorted her to Terrence's room.

"We had to put a Muffling Charm on the room because of the screaming," the nurse told her as they reached the door.

"Mm-hmm," Rosa muttered, a pang of sympathy for Terrence going through her.

The nurse tensed, then opened the door.

"Get away! Get away!"

Rosa clenched her teeth as she saw a skinny young man with a drawn-out face and sweaty black hair matted to his head thrashing about in his bed. An undulating, modified Shield Charm surrounded the bed to keep him from falling out.

"Ahhh! Go away!" Terrence swatted at some imaginary horror hovering over him.

Anger flared inside Rosa. Her brow furrowed as she stared at Terrence, who cried out in terror again. She made a fist. Why? Why would someone do this to a young man who never did anything to anyone in his entire life? She wanted to find whoever did this to him. Find them and make them pay.

She started toward the bed when she noticed two wizards to her left. One was Terrence's healer, a portly gray-haired man. The other was around six-feet-tall with an athletic build, thick black hair and a neatly trimmed beard. She also noticed the badge he wore on his robes. An auror's badge.

Rosa tilted her head. She hadn't assigned any aurors to the hospital. _What the hell?_

"Excuse me." Her eyes locked on the bearded wizard. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

He turned to her. "Who's asking?"

Anger lines etched into Rosa's face. "Rosa Infante, Director of Auror Operations in New England. _That's_ who's asking."

"Oh." A smile traced the auror's lips. "Well, nice to meet you in person, Auror Infante. I'm a big fan of your work. So, I assume you're hear to share your information on Mister Abernathy with me?"

Rosa shook her head. "Excuse me?"

"Oh. Sorry." The auror stuck out his hand. "Xavier Weidepol, Northern California Aurors Barracks. I assume you're here to help me with my case."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	48. The Tome Of Terrible Talismans

**CHAPTER 48: THE TOME OF TERRIBLE TALISMANS**

**

* * *

**"Your case?" Rosa's jaw clenched as she tried to fight down the billowing anger within and maintain her professional calm. The healer took a step back, tension radiating from his body, as though he sensed an impending explosion.

Rosa took a slow breath. "Please explain to me how a case that lands in my lap just this morning suddenly becomes the property of an auror who's stationed on the other side of the country?"

"Oh." Weidepol shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I guess I overstepped my bounds a little, didn't I?"

"I'd say you overstepped them a lot."

"Well, in that case, my apologies." Weidepol gave a slight bow and a disarming smile. That placated Rosa . . . somewhat. "What I probably should have said is it looks like the case you're investigating might be related to the one I'm working on."

"How so?"

Weidepol turned to Terrance Abernathy. The young man thrashed in his bed. "No! No! Leemelone! Leemelone! Ah! No! Ah!"

"He's not the only one like this." The auror sighed. "There are seven more just like him from one end of the country to the other."

Rosa straightened up. "Seven more people suffering from never-ending nightmares?"

"No." Weidepol shook his head. "But they are suffering from magical maladies that have driven them insane."

"If that's true, then why hasn't my office received any kind of alert about it?"

"Because none of my superiors see the pattern like I do. Believe me, I've tried to convince them. I'd have an easier time convincing a werewolf to become a vegetarian."

Rosa stiffened her jaw, holding back a small laugh. The guy may have an attitude, but it was still a funny line.

The moment of humor came and went. She fixed Weidepol with an appraising stare. "So you're the only one who believes there's, what, some serial curser roaming the country?"

Weidepol held his arms out to his sides, palms up. "That's about the size of it."

Rosa continued staring at the auror from California, mulling over what he had just told her. She had a hard time believing the Aurors Bureau would not investigate a string of dark magic attacks that left their victims in a similar state to that of poor Terrance Abernathy.

_Maybe Weidepol doesn't have enough evidence to convince his superiors._

_Maybe he's paranoid. Maybe he's got a conspiratorial bent to him like Luna Thomas._

_Maybe he's . . ._

Rosa pulled out her wand.

The healer gasped. "Please! Not here! I have a patient here."

"Relax. I'm just going to check out _Auror _Weidepol here."

Weidepol chuckled and spread out his arms. "You're not the first auror to do this. Go ahead."

Rosa flicked her wand. Tendrils of orange energy reached out and latched on to Weidepol's badge. Within seconds a bright red, white and blue aura surrounded the badge. Blue letters floated in front of it, spelling out the auror's name. That would not have happened if the badge had been faked, or if another person was wearing it.

"Well, you are a real auror." Rosa pocketed her wand.

"Thanks. Glad you believe me."

"I believe you're an auror. I didn't say I believe your story." She turned to the healer. "Is there any way I can talk to Mister Abernathy?"

"In the state he's in, there's no way you can hold any kind of conversation with him."

Rosa looked over to Terrance and frowned as he continued to scream and swat at imaginary monsters.

"Yeah, I figured as much. Guess I'll have to try another way."

She stepped closer to the bed, pulling out her wand and holding it close to her head. Her gaze locked on the thrashing, crying form of Terrance Abernathy. She took several slow, shallow breaths, just like Luna had taught her a few years ago during one of her visits to America and introduced her to the art of yoga, which she herself learned from one of her husband Dean's cousins. The breathing and concentration techniques had helped her immensely during her Advanced Legilimency training.

_I never imagined someone like Luna Thomas could help make me a better auror._

Rosa shoved the extraneous thought from her mind. She tuned out all the noise around her, even, to an extent, Terrance's screams. With one final breath, she whispered, _"Legilimens."_

She felt her consciousness turn into a bolt of energy that plunged into Terrance's head.

Images bombarded her mind. So many it was hard to focus on just one. Beings in dark cloaks. Sharp teeth. A flash of green. Why was it so cold? It felt like her very bones had frozen.

The images swirled in a maelstrom. Hammer blows struck her mind. The cold intensified. Had she turned into a block of ice?

Darkness. It reached out for her, pounded on her mind. She pushed back. Too strong. The darkness wanted inside her mind, drag her down to Hell, rip her flesh apart and feast on her organs.

_No. No! NO!_

Rosa's head snapped back. She gasped and stumbled backwards. Someone caught her elbow and kept her from falling. She took a raspy breath and looked to her left. Xavier Weidepol gave her a reassuring smile. She glanced down to find his hand still on her elbow.

"Th-Thanks." She slipped out of his gentle grasp.

"You're welcome. Legilimency?"

"Yeah." She nodded.

"Mm. I tried it myself before you got here. Pretty much the same result."

Rosa took a couple more deep breaths. "It was like . . . like a jigsaw puzzle of nightmares."

"My thoughts exactly," said Weidepol.

She turned to the healer. "Is there anything you can do for him?"

A sullen look came over the healer's face. "Honestly, I don't know. This looks to be a pretty powerful curse. We've tried everything. Calming Droughts, Dreamless Sleep Elixirs, even something as simple as a Cheering Charm. Nothing's worked. I . . ." He glanced at Terrance and lowered his voice, as thought afraid his patient might hear him.

_Fat chance, the shape he's in._

"I'm sorry to say, Auror Infante, but there may not be any hope for Mister Abernathy. He . . . he may remain in this condition for the rest of his life."

The news numbed Rosa. She shifted her gaze to Terrance, who cried out in terror and curled up in a fetal position. A lump formed in her throat. The healer's last few words echoed in her head. _The rest of his life._ The rest of his life, screaming from nightmares that wouldn't end. What the hell kind of life was that? Could his body even take it for decades? Part of her hoped not. For someone in this condition, death might be a release.

_Merlin's beard, he's only nineteen._ He had his whole life ahead of him, and . . .

Someone groaned. She glanced left and saw Weidepol also staring at Terrance. The smile he seemed to constantly wear had vanished, replaced by a half-scowl, half-mournful look. The man also had both fists balled. She'd forgotten her earlier anger toward him. Whatever else he might be, he was visibly upset over Terrance's condition.

Rosa exhaled. _C'mon. You're not going to accomplish anything just standing around and feeling bad for this kid._

"Weidepol. With me."

The auror said nothing. He just followed Rosa out of the hospital room and into the hallway. He shut the door, stared at it, and sighed. "Poor guy."

"Yeah. I know."

Weidepol turned to her. "Look, um, we probably got off on the wrong foot. It's just . . . every place I've been to investigating this case I've met a lot of resistance from the local aurors. I guess I expected it from you, too. One of the reasons I didn't alert your office that I was here. So for that, I apologize, and I hope you'll let me work with you."

The auror held out his hand. Rosa stared at it for a second. Weidepol did sound sincere. Plus, he didn't seem like _that _bad a guy.

_And he's pretty good looking, too._

She shoved away that last thought and shook his hand. "Apology accepted. So I guess the next thing to do is sit down and start comparing notes."

"Sounds good to me." He checked his watch. "It's little after three now. How about an early dinner?"

Rosa drew her head back in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"Oh. Sorry." He chuckled. "I'm not asking you out on a date. I mean, I've only known you now for, what, not even ten minutes. I usually want to know a woman for a good half-hour, at least, before I ask her out. I only suggested dinner because I haven't eaten since breakfast, and I'm starving."

Rosa fought to keep a smile off her face. "Um. Sure. Why not? Actually, I haven't eaten since breakfast either."

"Sounds good. Since you live here, I'll guess you'll have to pick the place."

This time a trace of a smile formed on her lips. It took a hell of an effort to keep from laughing. She took another look at Weidepol, who gave her another disarming smile. She wanted to shake her head. Not more than a minute ago this guy had been deadly serious. Now he had this whole witty vibe going on. The only other person she knew of who could go from serious to funny that quickly was . . .

George Weasley.

**XXXXX**

Rosa took Weidepol to the Dragon's Tooth Tavern in Boston's Milmothryn Market. After placing their order, she folded her hands on the table and stared at her fellow auror, who sat across from her. "Okay. Now you said there were seven other people who may have been attacked in a similar manner to Terrance Abernathy."

"That's right." Weidepol reached into his robes and pulled out a thick file. He plopped it on the table, opened it, and spread out the photos of seven wizards and witches, most of them around Terrance's age, or just a few years older. "This all started nine months ago in Quibby's Range, a little wizarding town in the Siskiyou Mountains in California. She was the first victim." He pointed to the photo of an unsmiling witch with a round, fleshy face. "Yissi Beniquez, age twenty. She developed an itch that wouldn't go away."

"An itch?" Rosa tilted her head, shooting Weidepol an incredulous look. "That doesn't sound very evil."

"Maybe not at first, but every time she scratched it, it got worse and worse. Before long it spread over her entire body. All she did was scratch herself, all the time, to the point she started ripping off her own skin. It got so bad they had to take her to a hospital and cast constant spells on her to paralyze her arms. All she does now is scream at the nurses and healers to make the itching stop. They've tried every spell, potion and balm possible, but nothing's helped her."

Rosa's jaw clenched. She gazed down at Yissi's picture, imagining her in the same condition as Terrance, having to live with an ailment that won't end.

"A month later," Weidepol continued. "We had another victim in California. Then the attacker moved throughout the country. Colorado, Nebraska, Arkansas, Ohio, North Carolina, and finally, your guy in here Massachusetts."

"And you said they all suffered from different maladies."

"That's right." Weidepol nodded. "One victim had prickle lesions, something you'd take a simple potion for, right? Well every time he did, more and more lesions sprouted over his body. From what I read, a prickle lesion feels like getting bit by a rattlesnake, except usually it happens on one part of your body. Imagine it happening over every inch of your body, and you can't get rid of it."

"It'd be like torture."

"Exactly. Whoever's doing this is using different curses, but they all do the same thing, prolong the victim's suffering, to the point where he or she is driven insane."

Rosa tightened her entwined fingers, contemplating Weidepol's words. If what he said was true, they were dealing with a very calculating, very dangerous dark wizard. Someone who had to have an incredibly deep hatred for Terrance and these other wizards and witches, so deep that just killing them wouldn't satisfy him or her. This person wanted them to suffer for the rest of their lives.

"Okay," she started. "So let's say this is the work of some serial curser. How are they doing it?"

Weidepol took a slow breath and turned away from Rosa. His face tightened and he rubbed his hands together. Rosa cocked an eyebrow. _Something's making him nervous._

Frowning, Weidepol turned back to her. "What I'm about to tell you is usually what has most aurors think I'm a nutcase. So please promise me you'll at least keep an open mind."

Rosa leaned back in her chair, surprised by his pleading tone. She slowly nodded. "All right, I promise."

"Good." Weidepol tensed before he continued speaking. "Have you ever heard of book called _The Tome of Terrible Talismans?"_

"Yeah. It was supposedly written by a follower of Hister's back in the 1920s. It had instructions on creating all kinds of dark objects that wouldn't kill a person, but prolong their suffering, usually for the rest of their life." She looked away in thought for a second. "Okay. That sounds like what's going on here. The only problem is, that book is a myth. No one's ever been able to produce a copy of it."

"That's what the general wizarding public believes. But I know different. I've actually seen it."

Rosa kept her face neutral. She just stared at Weidepol. She had promised him she'd keep an open mind, but for someone to say they've seen a book that probably didn't exist . . . She went back to one of her earlier suspicions about Weidepol, that his passion for conspiracies was on par with Luna Thomas.

"Okay. So how did you manage that?" she asked.

"It all started with my great-grandfather. He worked for the Department of Magic during the war against Hister. He was an Unspeakable with the Magical Mysteries and Secrets Branch. His specialty was books."

"And how would you know that?"

"Because he told my grandfather, who told both me and my father."

Rosa crossed her arms and leaned back in her seat, her gaze hardening. "You really expect me to believe that? That your great-grandfather talked about what he did for the Magical Mysteries and Secrets Branch? I'm trying to keep an open mind, but this is pushing it. You know as well as I do Unspeakables never talk about the things they do."

"My great-grandfather talked about his work after he left the Department."

"Most Unspeakables never quit the Department of Magic. And the ones that do have all sorts of spells cast on them to alert the Department if they do start talking about their jobs."

"I know." He shook his hands in an emphatic, and frustrated, manner. "But my great-grandfather knew ways to fool those spells. He was an Unspeakable, for Merlin's sake. Who the hell knows what things he learned? Now will you just hear out the rest of my story, please?"

Rosa bit her lip, again noting the desperate tone in Weidepol's voice, so opposite from earlier his brash personality.

Their food popped out of thin air on their table. They both ignored the food as Weidepol continued. "After the war with Hister, the Aurors Bureau handed over several dark books to the Magical Mysteries and Secrets Branch, books they felt were so dangerous they had to be kept in the most secure place possible. One of those books was _The Tome of Terrible Talisman._ But my great-grandfather didn't just stick in some vault and keep it locked up. He studied it. He learned the secrets of _The Tome _and the other books from Hister's collection, knew how dangerous they could be in the wrong hands, and tried to come up with ways to counter them. Then when Gellert Grindelwald was waging his war in the 1940s, he quit the Department and smuggled out every dark book he could."

"Why would he do that?" Rosa asked. "This country never got involved in the war with Grindelwald. That all happened in Europe."

"I know, but there were a few people in the US who supported Grindelwald's beliefs of wizarding supremacy. One of them was another Unspeakable who worked with my great-grandfather. There was a point when most people believed Grindelwald would conquer all of Wizarding Europe, and if that happened, it would only be a matter of time before he and his forces invaded this country. That's what my great-grandfather believed. The horrors from the war against Hister were still fresh in his mind, and he couldn't risk books like _The Tome of Terrible Talismans _falling into the hands of a dark wizard like Grindelwald. So he smuggled that book and several others out of the Magical Mysteries and Secrets Branch."

Rosa canted her head, giving him a questioning look. "He smuggled them out of there? The Magical Mysteries and Secrets Branch is better guarded than most wizarding prisons. How could he get anything out of there?"

"My great-grandfather was a pretty powerful wizard, and he knew the security at the Branch inside and out. He managed to find ways to defeat it. Plus he had help from Duffington Hinch."

"Duffington Hinch? As in the Director of the Aurors Bureau back in the 40s."

"Yup. He and my great-grandfather were good friends. Well, as good as friends as an Unspeakable can be with anyone outside the Magical Mysteries and Secrets Branch. But anyway, Hinch had the same fear of Grindelwald winning in Europe and coming to America that my great-grandfather did. He helped him smuggle those books out of the Department and get rid of any tracking charms cast on him. After that, my great-grandfather created a chamber in Wasatch Range in Utah to hide the books."

"But Grindelwald was defeated by Dumbledore in 1945," Rosa said. "The threat was over. Why not return the books to the Department of Magic?"

"Look what happened during my great-grandfather's time. First there was Hister here in America, then Grindelwald in Europe. He felt it was only a matter of time before another dark wizard came to power."

"Well he was right. After Grindelwald, we had Lord Voldemort to deal with."

"Exactly." Weidepol nodded. "My great-grandfather felt it was better to keep those books hidden from the rest of the world so no one like Grindelwald or Voldemort could get their hands on them. Before he died, he entrusted the safekeeping of those books to my grandfather, who did the same with me and my father. Unfortunately . . ."

Weidepol looked away, scowling. Rosa studied the man's face. His expression looked similar to the one he had outside of Terrance Abernathy's room. He was definitely upset. Not just upset, but angry.

Clenching a fist, he continued. "During the last war, the Death Eaters found out about our chamber in Utah."

"How?"

"Hinch's grandson. Turned out the guy was a Death Eater. Hinch must have let slip what happened with him and my great-grandfather. I heard in the last couple years of his life his mind was deteriorating, so who knows what he might have talked about. Anyway, the Death Eaters came, killed my grandfather, and made off with all the books. Me and my father spent the rest of the war tracking them down. We managed to find most of them. Then after the war, once I completed my auror training, I found the rest of the books, except _The Tome of Terrible Talismans._"

"What about your father? Did he help you after the war, too?"

Weidepol lowered his eyes. His shoulders sagged. "No. My father died two months before the war ended. Death Eaters."

"I'm sorry." A heavy feeling settled on Rosa's heart. Memories of Aunt Liana cropped up in her mind. Even after all this time, she still felt the void created by her death. It may not be as big as it had been fourteen years ago when it first happened, but it still stayed with her. She knew exactly what Weidepol was going through, and she sympathized.

"Thanks." He let out a loud breath and continued. "Anyway, like I said, _The Tome of Terrible Talismans _is the last one I have to find."

"What about the rest of the Aurors Bureau? Haven't they helped you?"

"Heh! I tried to get their help, when I was younger. Unfortunately, when I told them the story I'm telling you, they all thought my family was a bunch of crackpots, said those books were myths, nothing more. A few times I almost lost my job because I refused to stop talking about them."

"You said you recovered most of the books. Why didn't you show them to your superiors to try and convince them?"

"I recovered them, but I didn't keep them." Weidepol reached into his robes and pulled out a lighter. "See this? It's full of Blancosflame. As soon as I found one of those books, I torched it. Yeah, doing that made it difficult to get anyone to believe me, but after what happened with the Death Eaters stealing those books, I decided they were too dangerous to exist. My great-grandfather was right. There's always going to be another dark wizard just as bad as Hister or Voldemort who'll pop up. It may be twenty years from now, or fifty years, or a hundred years, but it's going to happen again. It's better to destroy these damn books to make sure no one ever uses them."

Rosa gave him a slight nod. Given what had happened during the last war, Weidepol's actions made sense.

_Or it's a convenient way of trying to get people to believe his story without having to produce evidence._

"And you're convinced what happened to these people," she nodded at the pictures on the table, "is because of _The Tome of Terrible Talismans?"_

"Oh yeah. My grandfather made me and my father read it cover to cover, so we knew what we'd be up against in case someone ever stole it and used it. We also used it to find ways to counter the curses in it."

Rosa held her breath, hope sprouting within her. "You mean you have a way to help Terrance and those other people?"

Weidepol frowned. "Unfortunately, no. My family found ways to protect ourselves from some cursed objects, and detect them. But curing someone who came into contact with them, we never did come up with a way for that."

Rosa closed her eyes and lowered her head. The thought of Terrance remaining in that frightened and screaming state for the rest of his life filled her with sorrow.

"But like I said," Weidepol continued. "My family did find ways to detect any cursed talisman." Again he reached into his robes and pulled out several objects; a coffee mug, two pocket watches, a belt, a pair of glasses, a ring, and a hair ribbon.

Rosa tensed, her eyes flickering from the items to Weidepol. "Are those the talismans?"

"Yup."

"And you're just laying them on the table like they were nothing? Do you now how dangerous this could be?"

"Relax. The dark magic dissipates after the curse takes fully effect on the victim. I know, it's extremely difficult to remove all traces of dark magic from an object, but it can be done."

"Then how do you know these are the talismans?"

Weidepol took out his wand and waved it over the hair bow. A white glow surrounded it.

"Now to most people, this looks like an ordinary bow, nothing wrong with it. But watch reeeeeally closely."

Rosa leaned closer, her focusing on the aura around the bow. She stared, and stared, and stared. Nothing unusual happened. Her doubts about Weidepol's story began to re-emerge.

Then the aura winked out, just for an instant, before it returned.

"What the hell?"

"You saw it, huh? That brief wink. Yeah, most people miss it. Like I said, it's extremely difficult to remove all dark magic from an object. Even when you are successful, there's always a small trace of it, enough to show that it has been tampered with, if you know what you're looking for."

He performed the same spell on all the other items. Rosa watched the same thing happen to each one. She knew that if those items had been normal, the white aura would not wink out, even for a split second.

_Maybe there is something to his story._

"Okay then." She switched her gaze to the photographs. "So, some witch or wizard is using this book to give these people incurable curses. The question is why? Aside from the fact all the victims are in their late teens to mid-twenties, what else to they have in common? Do they know each other?"

"No."

"Did they go to the same school?"

"No."

"What about blood status?"

"Five are purebloods, two are half-bloods."

Rosa sighed in frustration. "Then we have absolutely nothing that connects these victims."

"Actually, that's not true. They do have something in common."

"What?"

The corners of Weidepol's mouth twisted. Several seconds of silence passed before he answered. "All the victims are the children of Death Eaters."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	49. Family Legacy

**CHAPTER 49: FAMILY LEGACY**

**

* * *

**_I knew she was hiding something from me._

Rosa pounded on the door of Eos Abernathy's modest, one-story cottage perched on a hill overlooking Spencer, Massachusetts. Her face stiffened as she waited. Five seconds passed. Ten. She raised her fist, about to bang on the door again, when it opened.

"Oh. Auror Infante." Ms. Abernathy's face lit up. "Do you have any news on Terrance? Is he going to be all right?"

"Oh yeah. We've got news on Terrance. Can we come in?" She said it more like an order than a request.

"Yes. Yes, please." Ms. Abernathy stepped aside. Rosa marched into the home, followed by Xavier Weidepol, who introduced himself to the old witch.

"Did you find out who cursed Terrance?" asked Ms. Abernathy.

"No." Rosa faced her, her gaze hardening. "But I do have some more questions about your nephew."

"Wh-What?"

"His parents. You said they were killed by Death Eaters, right?"

"Y-Yes. That's what I told you."

"What did Terrance's parents do for a living?"

Rosa watched Ms. Abernathy's Adam's apple bob up and down. Her eyes shifted to the floor, then back to her. "What does that have to do with anything? They've been dead a long time."

"It may be the reason why someone cursed your nephew. Now, what did his parents do for a living?"

Ms. Abernathy's mouth hung open silently for a couple seconds. "They . . . worked in a tavern."

A long, hot breath came from Rosa's nose. She took a step toward the old witch. "Ms. Abernathy, I don't like being lied to."

Ms. Abernathy's eyes widened. She took a step backwards. "I don't . . . I don't know what you're talking about."

"Terrance's parents. Yes, they're dead, but I don't think they were killed by Death Eaters, unless they screwed up big time and their superiors punished them for it."

"What . . . What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means Terrance's mother and father were Death Eaters."

Ms. Abernathy's jaw dropped. She visibly shivered. "No. No. That's . . . That's not true."

"Don't lie, Ms. Abernathy. Auror Weidepol," she pointed to him, "has been investigating a string of attacks across the country similar to Terrance's. Do you know what all the victims have in common? Their parents were Death Eaters. So unless the person doing all this cursing broke that pattern and decided to attack some poor kid who never did anything to anyone, then your nephew's parents had to be Death Eaters."

Ms. Abernathy backed up, shaking his head. "N-No. You're wrong."

"I'm not wrong. I can see it in your face. Why were you keeping that fact hidden? Is Terrance involved with something he shouldn't be? Pretending to be afraid of the Dark Arts while actually being fascinated by them? Studying them so he could follow in Mommy and Daddy's footsteps? Maybe giving himself a little snake tattoo? Maybe I should check his arm for one. Maybe I should check _your _arm."

"No!" Ms. Abernathy cried out. "No! Terrance isn't dark, and neither am I! The dark arts tore apart my family. I hate it, and I taught Terrance to hate it as well."  
Rosa crossed her arms. "So it's true."

Tears spilled from Ms. Abernathy's eyes. "Yes. Yes, it's true. Terrance's parents were Death Eaters. One night during the war, they were leading a group of dark fairies in an attack on a wizarding town in Vermont. But some people from the Guild of the Light intercepted them and . . . and they were both killed. Some friends of theirs watched over Terrance until the war ended. That's when he came to me. He was only five, and I could already see what being around those . . . monsters had done to him. He never smiled. He liked to sit in his room, in the dark. He kept saying the word . . . Mudblood," she whispered it, "over and over again. I couldn't let him become like his parents. I couldn't."

"So what did you do?"

Ms. Abernathy's jaw clenched. She looked left, then right, then back to Rosa. "You have to understand. It was right after the war. People wanted retribution after everything the Death Eaters did."

"What did you do?" Rosa demanded.

"It was all for his own good. To keep him from going down the dark path."

"What did you do!" Rosa advanced on her.

Ms. Abernathy retreated. "I punished him! Every time he said Mu . . . said that word, or did anything even remotely dark, I . . . I . . ."

"You what?"

"I . . . I did all sorts of things. I locked him in a closet without any food, sometimes for an entire day. I sprayed him with streams of scalding hot water, I cast stinging hexes."

"Merlin's beard. You abused him?" Weidepol's face reddened.

"I didn't want to. It was for his own good."

"His own good?" Weidepol scowled. "He was only five, you evil hag. And you tortured him! What makes you any different from a damn Death Eater?"

"I was trying to make sure Terrance didn't become a Death Eater. I kept telling him, all the time, that he couldn't become like his parents, or people would take him away and throw him in a dungeon and hurt him. I told him that every single day. I had to drive every dark thought he ever had out of his head."

"That's why he was so terrified of Defense Against the Dark Arts Class," Rosa said. "That's why he kept to himself and never made any friends at Salem. He was scared someone might find out his parents were Death Eaters." She shook her head, glaring at Ms. Abernathy. "Thanks to you, your nephew's life was . . . nothing! He had no friends, no ambitions, no desire be a part of the world around him. And now he's likely stuck in a never-ending nightmare for the rest of his life. He has no chance do anything, ever! Those nineteen years of life he had before he was cursed were meaningless, all because of what you did to him!"

"I never wanted him to be as shy as he was. I wanted him to have a good life."

"And how the hell was he supposed to have that when you were scaring him to death every damn day?"

"I was protecting him! I was . . . protecting him." Ms. Abernathy sobbed uncontrollably.

"Don't you dare cry!" Rosa stomped toward her. "You have no right to cry after what you did to Terrance!"

"Rosa." Weidepol stretched out an arm between her and Ms. Abernathy.

Rosa aimed her fiery gaze at him. For a second she considered ripping Weidepol's arm off. Then she took a breath.

_Being angry's not gonna help. Focus on the job._

She looked around the living room and saw a small, black writing desk in one corner. She strode over to it, found a blank piece of parchment, and grabbed a quill and ink bottle.

"Come here," she snapped at Ms. Abernathy. "I want you to write down the names of every Death Eater friend of Terrance's parents."

"I don't . . ." Ms. Abernathy's voice trembled as she cried and talked at the same time. "It was so long ago. I may not remember -"

"Try. Because maybe one of the slimebuckets Terrance's parents hung around with during the war may have a grudge against them, and may have cursed Terrance as revenge. So if you have any love for you nephew at all in that twisted soul of yours, you'll do this."

Trembling, Ms. Abernathy took a seat, dipped her quill in an ink bottle, and started writing.

"Here." She handed the parchment to Rosa. "These are all the ones I remember."

Rosa snatched it out of her hand and stomped toward the front door, followed by Weidepol.

"Please," Ms. Abernathy called out in a shaky voice. "Please find who did this to Terrance."

Rosa stood by the door, glaring at the old witch. When Weidepol exited the house, she slammed the door closed.

Face twisted in a scowl, she stormed down the wooden steps and across the lawn. Images of Terrance screaming in terror filled her mind. Her heart ached. Maybe if he had someone in his life who truly loved him, truly cared for him . . .

_I can play what if all damn day, and it won't change the fact Terrance had an utterly sad life._

"In some ways," Weidepol said, "I can understand where she's coming from."

"What?" She spun around to face him.

Weidepol stopped, looking nervous for just a split second. He cleared his throat. "Um, what I mean is, a lot of people would be reluctant to help someone if they knew their parents were Death Eaters. So it's no surprise Ms. Abernathy would keep that information under her hat. Heck, that's one of the reasons I haven't had much cooperation from other aurors on this case."

"Sons and daughters suffering for the sins of their parents."

"That's what it pretty much boils down to."

Rosa bit her lower lip. "Have any of them gone down the same path as their parents?"

"Would it make a difference in how you deal with this case if they did?"

She just stared at Weidepol. Her answer should be "no." She had sworn an oath to uphold the law, and what this wizard or witch had done to Terrance and the others was a violation of the law. It didn't matter how good or how bad the victims had been. They had a right to be protected from harm.

_And what if some of them were aspiring Death Eaters?_ There were still quite a few of those bastards on the loose. The Wizarding World didn't need a new crop of them, ready to pick up where their parents left off in the last war, committing wanton death and destruction, making entire families suffer.

Families like hers.

"Answer my question and I'll answer yours," she finally replied.

Weidepol sighed. "Two of the victims did harbor some anti-Muggle-born feelings, and from what I understand weren't the nicest or most sociable people in the world. Maybe fifteen years ago they'd wind up as Death Eaters, but today, they'd just probably be prejudiced assholes most people don't like. The others were raised by pretty good families. No major problems with them."

"So where would Terrance fit in?"

Weidepol's head bobbed from side-to-side. "Well, he didn't have any desire to be a Death Eater."

"But I wouldn't consider Ms. Abernathy to be anything close to 'pretty good family.'"

Weidepol tilted his head, a curious look on his face. "You seem to be taking what happened to Terrance pretty personally."

"So what if I am? That hag made him so scared of everything he didn't even try to make a life for himself. And according to that healer he'll never have a chance at it. It's just . . ." Rosa clamped her lips together and turned away from Weidepol.

"Just what?"

Her shoulders sagged. Part of her wanted to keep it to herself. She'd only known this guy for a few hours. But was this information so terribly personal? And Weidepol did seem like an all right guy.

She turned back to him. "Seeing Terrance, I can't help but think of Artimus."

"Artimus? As in Artimus Rand? The Secretary of Magic's point man with the Legislature on Muggle and Muggle-born affairs?"

"Yeah. He grew up with an SOB for a father and was one of the shiest kids at Salem. Looking at Terrance, I can't help but wonder if Artimus might have wound up like him, scared and introverted, if me and Jared and Jimmy never met him."

Weidepol shook his head. "Hard to picture him as a shy person. I've read some of his interviews in _The All-Seeing Eye. _The guy's pretty articulate."

"You didn't know him at Salem. Believe me, it took a long time for him to break out of his shell. But we helped him do it. No one helped Terrance do the same, and now look at him."

Rosa's brow furrowed. "You know, if whoever's responsible for this was cursing former Death Eaters, then I wouldn't mind. Hell, it'd just mean less work for the Aurors Bureau. But he's doing this to people who've done nothing wrong. Innocent people. It's not their fault their parents went out and committed atrocities in the name of some psycho dark wizard from England. We're going to find whoever's responsible for this, and we're going to make them pay for it. And if they used that _Tome of Terrible Talismans_, then we'll find it, too, and make sure no one ever uses it again."

A smile spread across Weidepol's. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For doing what no other auror has wanted to do. Help me, and more importantly, help them."

Rosa breathed deep. A warm feeling grew inside her as she noted the sincerity in his tone. "You're welcome."

Weidepol continued to smile, longer than Rosa expected him to. She noticed that he had a rather nice smile.

"Um, so . . ." She pushed the thought from her head and focused on the task at hand. "I should get this list back to headquarters and have some of my aurors track down these names."

"Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good. And while they're doing that, we can check Terrance's home for any cursed objects."

Rosa grinned. "You read my mind. That's just what I was going to recommend."

"It feels nice to finally work with someone who's on the same page you are. We're starting to make a pretty good team, huh, Infante?" He shot her a warm smile.

A tingle went through her chest. _Yeah, I think we are._

**XXXXX**

After dropping off the list at the regional headquarters, Rosa and Weidepol Apparated to Terrance Abernathy's apartment in Ovenderburg. The place couldn't have been much bigger than her dorm room back at Salem. In addition, it was also bland. No curtains on the windows, no pictures or posters on the wall, no knick-knacks around. Nothing to give the apartment any personality.

_Then again, the guy who lived here had no personality._

Again, her anger toward Ms. Abernathy burned.

"We need to find something Terrance would have with him a lot," Weidepol said. "A watch, an article of clothing, maybe a book."

"Or a quill."

"Yeah, that too."

"Like that one?" She waited for him to turn around and pointed. Sticking out of the top pocket of a coat hanging from the coat rack was a quill with gold and scarlet feathers.

"Those look like feathers from a Piasa," Weidepol noted.

"Definitely. Pretty colorful for a man who had a very bland life." Rosa used her wand to levitate the quill over to them. She leaned in closer and noticed an inscription on it.

_Terrance, For your graduation from Salem. I am so proud of you. Love, Aunt Eos._

"I guess it had to be a gift," said Weidepol. "Terrance didn't strike me as the sort of guy who'd buy something like this on his own."

"Yeah. 'Love Aunt Eos.'" Rosa snorted. "Like a fancy quill makes up for all that abuse."

"Um, right." Weidepol chewed on his lip for a moment. "So, I guess we should check this thing out, huh?"

She turned to him and nodded. She floated the quill over to the kitchenette table, where Weidepol performed the necessary spell. They both stared at it. The milky white aura surrounded the quill, staying solid for five seconds . . . ten seconds.

Then winked out for a split second.

"Well, that confirms it." Weidepol picked up the quill and stuffed in his pocket with the other formerly cursed objects. "The same thing happened to Terrance that happened to the other seven victims."

Rosa stared at the spot on the table where the quill had rested. She then turned back to the coat where she had found it.

"Xavier?"

"Yeah?"

"How do you think the person responsible for this has been cursing all these items?"

"I'm guessing he or she broke into their homes when they were out and did it."

"Without setting off any of the security wards?"

Weidepol scoffed. "I checked all the previous victims' homes. The wards they did have up, hell, I could have defeated them with spells I learned in my Fifth Year at school."

"Still, breaking into someone's home is pretty risky. What about at their work places? It'd be a lot easier to get close to them there, take their stuff and replace it without them ever knowing."

"I checked there, too. There were some employees the victims didn't get along with, but no evidence to indicate they were responsible for the attacks."

Rosa nodded slowly. "I think we should revisit the places where all the victims worked. I have a feeling that's where whoever's behind these attacks got hold of all those items."

"What makes you think that?"

"The quill. Where did we find it? In Terrance's coat pocket. Not on his desk here like you'd expect. He must have taken it to work with him."

"Hmm." Weidepol cranked an eyebrow. "It was a gift from his aunt, the only family he had. Maybe it was sentimental to him."

"Be that as it may, look at all the other cursed items you found. The watches, the belt, the glasses. All items people would have with both at home and at work."

"Okay, but what about the coffee mug? I found that in the home of the first victim, Yissi Beniquez."

Rosa shrugged. "People, both magical and Muggle, have their own coffee mugs at their work places. That could have been the case with Yissi. She may have brought it home for some reason."

Weidepol crossed his arms and exhaled slowly. "All right. I guess it's back to where they all worked."

"Good. But first, we go back to headquarters, see how the others are coming along researching the names on that list. If any of those people are still alive, we can get their photos and show them around."

"That might be a waste of time. If it is anyone on that list, they'll probably be heavily disguised."

"You might be right. But for now it's all we've got."

**XXXXX**

Upon their return to the headquarters for Auror Operations, New England Region, Rosa and Weidepol headed to the records room in the basement, specifically to the section that held all information pertaining to Death Eaters, living, dead, or unaccounted for.

"Auror Infante." A willowy young woman with tan skin and dark, coiffed hair hurried over to her, using her wand to levitate a stack of files. "I'm glad you're back."

Rosa smiled at Alyssa Aguirre. At the same time, disbelief crept through her, as it did every time she found herself around this young witch. Alyssa was the younger sister of her former Salem classmate Abigail Aguirre. Most of Rosa's memories of Alyssa consisted of a rambunctious little girl being chased around Pier SWI by her parents. Now here she stood, all grown up, and an auror, working for her. Rosa stifled a grimace. Even though she liked Alyssa's work ethic and competence, being around her reminded her of an unpleasant fact.

She was getting older.

Rosa dismissed the thought. "I take it you have something?"

"Yes I do." Alyssa levitated the files to a nearby table and used her wand to spread them out in neat rows. "Most of the people on the list you gave us are dead. Five of them are currently in prison, but three are unaccounted for." With a wave of her wand, a moving picture floated above the table, one that showed over two dozen people of various ages.

"What this supposed to be?" Weidepol nodded to it. "A Death Eater family reunion?"

Rosa grinned at the joke. Alyssa just gazed at him, looking unsure how to respond. "Um, actually it's a photograph that has all three of the people unaccounted for."

With another wave of her wand, red circles appeared around the faces of two wizards and a witch. "Marcus Rethel, Zealous Stonebreaker and Remora Varrage. All Death Eaters that are unaccounted for, and all known associates of Terrance Abernathy's parents."

"When was this picture taken?" Rosa asked.

"According to the file, it was taken two months after Lord Voldemort came to power in Britain. Olin Grath was inspecting his forces here in New England."

Rosa's face scrunched as she aimed a hard gaze at the photo. There he was, in the middle of the gathering, with his angular features and shock white hair. Olin Grath, the leader of the Death Eaters in America. Images rushed through her mind, as clear as the day they happened fourteen years ago. The Battle of Helghorst Island. Hundreds of spells sizzling through the air. Death Eaters falling from their brooms. Friends of hers like Eli Witting and Gregory Lancemore dying. Her father losing his leg. And Olin Grath, lying dead on the floor with hundreds of other Death Eaters, so despondent over Voldemort's death they poisoned themselves.

_You didn't deserve an easy death like that, you bastard._

She resisted the urge to spit on his image as she scanned the rest of the photo. An angular-faced teenage boy with a dour expression stood next to Grath. His son, she assumed. In fact there were several children in the photograph, ranging in age from four to about eighteen. The next generation of Death Eaters, probably. At least, they would have been had Harry Potter not killed Lord Voldemort.

"Auror Infante? Auror Infante, are you all right?"

Alyssa's voice snapped Rosa back to the present. "Huh? Oh, sorry, Alyssa. Just . . . memories."

"Right." The look on the younger witch's face indicated she understood. After all, her older sister had fought alongside Rosa at Helghorst Island. "Anyway, we did locate the daughter of Zealous Stonebreaker and asked her if she'd had any contact with her father. She said she hadn't seen him since the end of the war, and made it pretty clear she doesn't want to see him. Ever."

"What about the other two?" Rosa asked. "Have you gotten in touch with their children, or any other relatives?"

"We've sent out some aurors to do just that. They haven't reported back as yet."

"Good. Thanks, Alyssa. Let me have that photograph. We're going to show this at the places where the victims worked. Good work."

"Thank you, Auror Infante." Alyssa smiled.

Rosa left the basement, Weidepol trailing her. She continued gazing at the photograph, concentrating mainly on the children. A frown creased her lips. None of the children smiled. Not even the little ones. All appeared stone-faced. A few, the teenagers mainly, just from the look in their eyes she could tell they had firmly believed in the pureblood supremacist crap spewed by their parents.

"They never had a chance."

"What was that?"

Rosa flinched, glancing over her shoulder at Weidepol. She hadn't meant to say that out loud. Now that she did . . .

"I just said they never had a chance. The kids in this photograph. They grow up their whole lives listening to how being a pureblood gave them the right to rule over others, how Muggle-borns are the filth of the Wizarding World, and how Muggles should be exterminated. How could they not buy in to all that?"

"Some of them didn't," said Weidepol. "A lot of the younger ones ended up with good families."

"Except Terrance. He went from a family of Death Eaters to an aunt who abused him 'for his own good.'" Rosa sneered at those last few words.

She sighed and stared back at the photo. "I guess we were lucky."

"How so?"

"That we both came from the families we did. I mean, my family went through some rough times after the war. A lot of families did. But we managed to pull together when it counted."

"And how do you count my family as lucky?" Weidepol asked. "It's not like I gave you the Weidepol family history."

"Maybe not, but look what they did? Your grandfather and great-grandfather safeguarded all those dark books. Quite a few wizards and witches would have probably used them for their own gain. Then you and your father spent the war trying to find those books when they were stolen. I'd say that makes your family dedicated to fighting the dark side."

Weidepol snorted. "Yeah, we're dedicated. But lucky? I don't think I'd go that far. The Second War with Voldemort cost me my grandfather and my father. And then my wife and . . ." His lips suddenly pressed together.

"Your wife?" Rosa's eyes widened. Somehow, she never pictured Weidepol being married. The revelation surprised her, and in a small way, bothered her.

Weidepol lowered his head and leaned against the wall. "I guess the more accurate term is my ex-wife. Haley Sykes. She was a Muggle-born. We dated when we were at school, lost track of one another during the war, then after Voldemort was killed we found each other again. You remember what it was like back then. Pretty heady times. Everyone was so elated Voldemort was dead and the war was over. Well, we both got caught up in the euphoria. We got married, a real spur of the moment thing. Even had a son a couple years later. Priam. Unfortunately, there were still a lot of those dark books out there, and I felt I owed it to my father and grandfather to keep looking for them. I'd be gone for long stretches at a time, and . . . and I never told Haley where I'd go, what I was doing. Back then, I felt like those books were a curse on my family, and I didn't want Haley or Priam to have anything to do with them. But instead of protecting them, I pushed them away. Haley left me five years ago, and took Priam with her. I haven't seen either of them since."

Rosa swallowed, and just stared at Weidepol. His face tightened, as though trying to hold back his emotions. Not that he succeeded. Regret radiated from his face. Regret and some anger.

"I'm sorry," she said.

Weidepol raised his head and managed a brief smile. "Thanks."

Rosa returned the smile, then realized something. She looked down.

Her hand gently grasped Weidepol's wrist.

He, too, looked down. For several seconds, neither of them moved.

"Um . . ." The breath stuck in Rosa's throat as she let go of Weidepol's wrist.

"Um . . ." Weidepol rotated his head left to right. "Um, well, now you know all about the sad life and times of Xavier Weidepol, huh?" Again he managed to tack on a smile.

"Yeah." Rosa grinned and nodded, admiring how quickly he bounced back. It took a special personality to crack a joke so soon after revealing something so heart-wrenching.

"Say, it's pretty late," Weidepol said. "Most of the places where the victims worked are probably closed for the day. Maybe we should pick this up again tomorrow."

"Um . . . yeah. Yeah, you're right."

Weidepol gave her the name and his room number of an inn in Milmothryn Market where he was staying. Rosa walked him outside to the Apparation point.

"Thanks for all your help, Rosa. I really appreciate it."  
"Thanks for your help," she said. "You're the one who got me pointed in the right direction with this case."

"Yeah, I guess I did. Heh! First time for everything. Usually by now whatever auror I'm dealing with thinks I'm a crackpot and tells me to get the hell out of their sight."

Rosa chuckled as Weidepol bid her farewell. She walked back inside the triple-decker, a smile still plastered on her face. It remained as she entered her office and checked her memos and messages, seeing which ones needed her attention and which ones she could shunt off to her deputy while she investigated this case.

She leaned back in her chair, reviewing all the facts and evidence they had gathered today. She also thought about Xavier Weidepol. Her first impression of the man hadn't been very favorable. That changed after they left Terrance Abernathy's hospital room. He appeared genuinely upset over what happened to him, and the other victims. He struck her as intelligent, committed to fighting the dark arts, willing to go wherever a case took him, even if it rankled his superiors or other aurors who worked with him. She also liked his sense of humor.

_And on top of all that, he's damn good looking._

_And he's single._

Rosa sighed. _That doesn't sound desperate, does it?_

She stared at the wall, thinking of how Weidepol's wife and son left him because he got too involved with searching for those dark books.

_Is that the kind of man you want to get involved with? One who pushes aside the people he loves?_

_You heard him. He said he did it to protect them._ Good intentions, which unfortunately ended badly for him. Though he seemed pretty broken up about it. She sensed if he had it to do over again, he'd handle the whole thing differently.

Rosa closed her eyes, thinking back to this morning, wondering what it would be like to have a family of her own, like everyone else she knew seemed to have. Then she thought about what happened to Weidepol. It made her wonder what would be worse, not having a family at all, or having one that ultimately abandoned you.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **_The Piasa is a bird-like monster depicted in American Indian cliff paintings in Illinois._


	50. Sins Of The Father

**CHAPTER 50: SINS OF THE FATHER**

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The next morning Rosa went through the same routine as the day before. Workout, stare at the photo tree and wonder if she'd ever be married with children, and eat breakfast. After cleaning her plate and utensils, she Apparated to Boston. Five minutes later, Xavier Weidepol met her in her office.

"So where should we start?" he asked.

"I figure we'll start where the first victim, Yissi Beniquez, worked, then follow this curser's trail until we come to Terrance's job. Maybe by then we'll find out who this scumbag is so we can catch 'im."

"Well if he or she did work at Colbert's Cauldron Company with Terrance, they're probably long gone by now."

"I figured as much. But if we can find out their identity, we can start putting up wanted posters, or if we get really lucky, maybe we can figure out their next move."

"Let's hope so."

Rosa noticed Weidepol didn't smile. Instead his lips and face had tightened into a mask of grim determination. Maybe he felt close to catching this serial curser, getting his hands on _The Tome of Terrible Talismans_, and having this whole, decade-and-a-half ordeal come to an end. She hoped that would happen. Who knew? Maybe with this personal quest of his at an end, he could finally make up all that lost time with his son. He might even be able to reconcile with his ex-wife.

She inwardly winced at that thought.

The two headed to a row of fireplaces on the third floor. After throwing a handful of Floo powder into one of them, Rosa stated, "Los Angeles Sunriders Stadium."

Green flames gushed from the hearth. She and Weidepol walked into them. Seconds later, they stumbled out of another fireplace on the other side of the country. Before her cursing, Yissi had worked in the ticket office for the Sunriders. They showed the Death Eater group photo to everyone employed by the professional Quidditch team. Every time the reaction was the same, a shake of the head and a negative answer. "Never seen any of them around here." "None of them look familiar to me." "None of those people work here."

It was the same at the work place for every other victim. No one recognized any of the people in the photo.

While they didn't have any luck with the photograph, the employee records were a different story. A pattern had emerged at each work place. At least one new worker had been hired three to six weeks before each victim had been cursed. After the attack, that new employee stuck around for two or three weeks before leaving.

"Clever," Weidepol noted. "If he bolted right after every victim was cursed, that would draw attention. Better to wait a couple weeks, let everything's settle down, then slip away."

They determined the suspect was male and around six-feet-tall. After that, the names and descriptions varied. At Yissi's job he was Roger Delby and had brown hair and a large nose. At another job he called himself Argo Avatar, and had a paunch and wore glasses. At a third workplace he was Obsidian Ollmeter, a man with red hair and buck teeth. For another job, he shaved his head and called himself Cameron Tyler.

"Every place, a different name, a different appearance," Weidepol said as he and Rosa left Condrella's Candles For All Smells and Occasions in Klytzrovin, the wizarding marketplace in Charlotte, North Carolina. That had been the workplace of Lahti Penziltz, the last victim prior to Terrance's cursing. "I'm starting to think Polyjuice Potion."

The corners of Rosa's mouth curled as she considered it. "Mm, I don't know. That stuff is very difficult to brew. Plus he'd need a constant supply of it, along with having to keep whoever he's impersonating alive and held captive somewhere for as long as he's using it."

"But isn't that what Barty Crouch, Junior did at Hogwarts? I read about it in _The War and Harry Potter. _Crouch kept that auror, Mad-Eye Moody, locked up for the whole school year, plucking his hairs to put in the potion and learning all he could about the man so he could pull off impersonating him."

"Crouch was also at a school, and had easy access to all the ingredients for Polyjuice Potion. And the disguises he's using, anyone could pull them off with some simple spellwork to extend your teeth or change your hair color."

"And maybe he stuffed himself with Pumpkin Pasties and Neely's Nut-Nuttier-Nuttiest Bars to look fat for one job," Weidepol suggested, "then starved himself to look skinny for another job."

"That's a possibility," Rosa said. "But now it doesn't matter what he looks like. We know this guy's pattern. Terrance was cursed less than a week ago . . ."

"Which means our guy should still be working at Colbert's Cauldron Company," Weidepol declared.

Rosa blinked in surprise. She wasn't used to other people finishing her sentences. Heck, as close as they were, even Jared had never done that. The only two people she ever saw do it with regularity were . . . Fred and George Weasley.

She looked at Weidepol. Change his hair color from black to red and . . .

_Fantasize on your own damn time, Infante. You've got a job to do._

They Apparated to the Headquarters for Auror Operations, Southern Region, and Flooed back to Boston. From there they Apparated to Nantucket Island, where they stood in front of a large black building in the shape of an upside-down cauldron that housed Colbert's Cauldron Company. They entered to find long rows of work benches with wizards and witches either molding cauldrons or dumping all manner of liquids into them.

"Ooooh! My, my, my. We have guests."

Rosa and Weidepol looked up. A short, round ghost with long, curled hair dove at them. The two backed up a few steps as it pulled up in front of them.

"Ooooh, aurors no less." The female ghost gave them a slight bow. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Um, we need to talk with the owner," Rosa said.

"Oh, you mean my great-great-great grandson, Vincent. Come. I'll take you to his office."

"Thank you, Ms. . . ."

"Oh, it's Mrs., dear. Mrs. Tessandra Colbert, wife of Rene Colbert, the second son of the founder of our wonderful company." The ghost of Tessandra Colbert spun around, arms extended, a smile on her face.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Auror Infante, this is Auror Weidepol."

"Charmed." Tessandra curtsied. "Follow me. I'll take you to see Vincent."

She hummed a light-hearted tune as she floated between the work tables. Rosa glanced at the workers. Nearly all of them stared as they went by. That wasn't unusual. It wasn't every day that an auror dropped by your place of business. She quickly studied the face of each wizard she saw for any signs of nervousness. Sweat on the brow, glances toward the exit, deliberately avoiding eye contact.

She found none of that. Just a lot of surprised looking people, no doubt wondering what she and Weidepol were doing here.

She sighed to herself. _Where are you, you son-of-a-bitch?_

"Vincent! We have visitors!" Tessandra breezed into a spacious office and flew in a circle around the portly, balding wizard sitting at the desk. "Aurors, Vincent. They're aurors." She wagged a finger at him. "Be on your best behavior."

Vincent frowned in annoyance. "Yes, Grandmother. Thank you."

"My pleasure. Have a wonderful day." Tessandra beamed at them all and floated out of the office.

Vincent Colbert shook his head before rising to his feet. "Please forgive my great-great-great grandmother. She can be a little eccentric. Well, more than a little."

"That's all right." Rosa tacked on a smile before introducing herself and Weidepol.

"So what does the Aurors Bureau want with me?" Vincent asked.

"Not you really, Mister Colbert. We're more interested in someone who works here, someone who was hired in the past month or two. They may be connected to a case we're investigating. I don't want to alarm you, but it's very likely someone in your company may be responsible for a string of cursings across the country. One of the victims was a young man who worked here. Terrance Abernathy."

Vincent's eyes widened. "Terrance? I heard from his aunt that he was suffering from some malady. But you think someone cursed him?"

Rosa and Weidepol nodded.

"But why? Terrance always kept to himself. To be honest, I never met anyone so shy before." Vincent stiffened. "Merlin's beard, you mean to tell me there's a dark witch or wizard working for me?" The color drained from his face. "Is he here right now? What about my employees? Are they in any danger?"

"We don't think so." Rosa raised both hands, hoping to calm Vincent. "He seems to be targeting specific people. Now, Mister Colbert, if you could please show us your employee records. We're interested in any male employees you've hired going back, say the last two months."

"Um, sure. Sure." Vincent walked over to a filing cabinet in the far corner of the office. He opened the middle drawer and extracted a thick file, which he placed on the desk and opened.

"We've had three new hires over the past two months, for wizards, I mean. There's Zen Khan and Oscar Cardenal, they're both inspectors. The third one is Peter Thurston, in distribution."

"What can you tell us about them?" Rosa asked. "Any have you noticed any unusual behavior in any of them?"  
Vincent furrowed his brow. "Well, I know Cardenal can be a little abrasive. Thurston doesn't socialize much. No problems with Khan. He's one hard-working wizard."

"Any of them have issues with Terrance Abernathy?"

"No." Vincent shook his head. "No one had any issues with him. Like I said, he was the shiest man I'd ever met. Most times it felt like he was just, well, invisible."

The corners of Rosa's mouth twisted. _Invisible. Is that how everyone is going to remember Terrance?_ "Are all three of those men here today?"

"Yes. They're all clocked in."

She turned to Weidepol. His chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. She fed off his anticipation. They were so close to catching this dark wizard. She had to restrain herself from rushing out of the office, waving her wand, and demanding this scumwad show himself.

Taking a breath, Rosa pulled out the Death Eater group photograph. "Mister Colbert, I want you to take a look at this picture. Do you see any of those three men in it?"

Vincent took the picture and held it less than a foot from his face. Several seconds passed before he shook his head. "No. None of those three are in it."

"If you could just look again," Rosa urged. "Please bear in mind that picture is about fifteen years old, and the person we're looking for might have changed their appearance. They may have a different hair color or maybe a beard or they may have gained weight."

Vincent sighed. "Okay. I'll try." The tone in his voice indicated he didn't expect to succeed.

A flash of ethereal white streaked into the office. "How goes your meeting, Vincent?" Tessandra inquired. "Anything exciting? Are there dark wizards lurking on the premises?"

"Grandmother, please. I'm busy here. This is important to the safety of this company."

"Tsk." Tessandra waggled a finger at him. "Remember, Vincent, this was my company long before it was yours. So while I may be dead, I still have an interest in what goes on here."

She floated behind her great-great-great grandson and peered over his shoulder at the photograph. "Hmph! What a decidedly unhappy bunch. Who are these people?"

"Death Eaters, ma'am," Weidepol answered. "And their children."

Tessandra scowled. "Death Eaters. What foul beings. So much pain and misery they've caused and . . . Oh! I say. Surely that can't be . . ." She leaned closer, earning a soft snort from Vincent. "Why it is! That's that young Thurston lad."

"What?" Both Rosa and Weidepol said as they stepped next to Vincent and stared at the photograph.

"Grandmother, please. That looks nothing like Thurston. That boy has blond hair and Thurston's is black. Plus he's a lot heavier."

"True. But look at the eyes. The eyes tell all." Tessandra pointed at the boy in the photo. Rosa looked at the image of an angular-face boy with a dour expression and dark green eyes.

"Merlin's beard," Weidepol said breathlessly. "Rosa, do you know who that is?"

"Yeah. Unbelievable."

"What?" Vincent's head whipped from Weidepol to Rosa. "Who is this boy?"

Rosa bit her lip before answering. "Mister Colbert. I hate to tell you this, but if your great-great-great grandmother is right, then Peter Thurston is really Minos Grath, as in the son of Olin Grath."

Vincent froze, his eyes locked on the unsmiling image of Minos Grath. His hands shook slightly. "O . . . O . . . Olin Grath? His son? That . . . That monster's son is working for me? He's the one who cursed Terrance?"

"What?" Distress flared across Tessandra's ghostly features. "He cursed that Abernathy boy? But he was so quiet. Why would he do that?"

Vincent slowly shook his head. "Olin Grath's son. But I thought Grath's family all died during the war. They all killed themselves on Helghorst Island."

"Actually, Minos Grath's body was never found," Rosa said. "He's been listed as 'unaccounted for' since the end of the war."

"Until now." A harsh look formed on Weidepol's bearded face. "So what are we waiting for? Let's get this slimebucket."

"Yes," Vincent blurted. "Yes, get that . . . that vermin out of my building."

"Don't worry, Mister Colbert," Rosa said. "That's exactly what we're going to do. Where would Thurston . . . er, Grath be right now?"

"The distribution office, second floor. They're scheduled to Floo a shipment of cauldrons to an apothecary in Yillylond Square in Philadelphia." Vincent checked his pocket watch. "In fact, they should be doing it right now. I'll show you the way."

"Thanks, Mister Colbert." Rosa placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "But this could be dangerous. You'd better let us handle this."

"I can show you," said Tessandra, a much more serious tone to her voice. "I am a ghost, after all. What can he do to me?"

Rosa nodded. She and Weidepol followed Tessandra out of the office and up the winding staircase. Her heartbeat picked up. When they reached the second floor her gait increased, as did Weidepol's. Images of Terrance screaming in terror played in her mind's eye. It fueled her anger, and her desire to confront this bastard and hit him with a Stunning Spell, or a Battering Spell, or a Firebolt Curse. Or maybe all three.

"Here we are." Tessandra hovered in front of an open door.

Rosa and Weidepol peered inside. In the middle of the room was a pear-shaped wizard with dark hair, holding a wand and levitating a line of cauldrons into a gusher of green Floo flames.

"That's him," Tessandra whispered and pointed. "That's Peter Thurston, or rather, Minos Grath."

Rosa nodded and looked to Weidepol. She pulled out her wand and stuffed it under the right sleeve of her robes. Weidepol did the same.

Taking a steady breath, she walked into the room.

"Excuse me, Mister Thurston?"

Thurston – Grath – glanced at them. His reaction was more of annoyance than surprise or panic. "I'm busy right now. I have a delivery to make. Can you talk to me later?"

"No, we can't . . . Grath."

Now she got a reaction from him. Grath stiffened, except for his dark green eyes. They widened in shock. He lowered his head, his gaze switching from the cauldrons to her and Weidepol.

"That's right. We know who you really are." Rosa let her wand slip from her sleeve. She gripped it tight. "It's over."

Impossibly, Grath's eyes grew even wider. His shoulders rose in a slow breath.

Rosa and Weidepol brought up their wands. "Don't make any sud-"

Grath slashed his wand. Cauldrons shot across the air toward them. Tessandra shrieked.

Rosa ducked. Weidepol swiped his wand in front of him. Cauldrons spun through the air and smashed against the wall. Grath ran for the Floo flames, for the apothecary in Yillylond Square on the other side.

From her stomach, Rosa cast a Freezing Charm. The white bolt struck the flames. An ice wall formed and blocked off the fireplace.

Grath skidded to a halt. Weidepol cast a Stunning Charm. Grath erected a Shield Charm at the last second, blocking it. Fire erupted from his wand. It broke into a pair of flaming tongues, one headed for Rosa, the other for Weidepol.

She intercepted the flames with a Freezing Charm. The two spells exploded into a watery mist. Weidepol used a Shield Charm to deflect the other tongue of flame.

"Stop him! Stop him!" Tessandra cried out. "He's getting away!"

Rosa spotted Grath sprinting out of the room.

"No friggin' way." Rosa jumped to her feet and chased after him. She took a quick glance over her shoulder. Weidepol was right behind her. They pounded down the stairs. Rosa cast a Stunning Spell. She missed. Grath hit the first floor and kept running. She reached the floor a couple seconds later. Startled gasps arose from several workers as they watched Grath running down an aisle between work tables.

"GEDDOWN!" Rosa shouted. "EVERYBODY DOWN!" She cast a Battering Spell. Grath twisted around and blocked it. Weidepol fired off a pair of Stunning Spells. One missed, the other was blocked by Grath.

Rosa's eyes flickered from Grath to the exit. Twenty more feet and he'd be out the door, past the Anti-Apparation field surrounding the building, and then . . . he could be anywhere in New England.

Ropes shot from her wand. Grath cast a Reductor Curse. The ropes disintegrated.

A brown bolt streaked from Weidepol's wand. A huge boulder formed out of thin air, blocking the exit. Grath slowed and raised his wand at the rock.

"_Constrictus!"_ Rosa hollered.

Vines burst from the floor and wrapped around Grath. He kicked and screamed. The vines tightened their grip. Rosa noticed Grath still had possession of his wand. He bent it toward the floor.

A blue flash came from Weidepol's wand. The Disarming Charm sent Grath's wand spinning across the room.

Rosa snapped her wrist. The vines twisted around so Grath faced them. He sneered at the two aurors as they approached.

"Well, if it isn't the famous Rosa Infante. Tell me. How's your cripple of a father?" Grath chuckled, still managing to maintain his sneer.

"He's doing better than yours. My father left Helghorst Island alive. Yours poisoned himself because he was a coward."

Grath's face reddened. He bared his teeth. "Don't you dare talk about my father like that, you Mudblood-loving whore! He was a great man! The most powerful wizard in this whole country!"

"Your father was a murdering scum!" Rosa fired back. "The only reason he had any power was because he was better than any other Death Eater in America when it came to kissing Voldemort's ass!"

Grath's head shook with rage. Saliva dripped from the left corner of his mouth as he exhaled angry breaths.

His head snapped forward. A wad of spit flew from his mouth and struck Rosa in the temple. She stiffened, disgust and fury blazing in side her.

"Son-of-a-bi-"

Weidepol's arm snapped forward. A Battering Charm shot from his wand and struck Grath in the cheek. He cried out in pain.

"You spit on her again, you maggot, and you'll get something a lot worse than a Battering Charm." Weidepol glared at him, nostrils flaring.

Rosa looked at Weidepol. Some of her fury turned toward him. She could have nailed the filthy little prick with her own spell. Then she noticed how much Weidepol was seething, how that glare of his never left Grath.

A warm feeling grew inside her.

She shook it off and turned back to Grath, whose cheek sported an ugly dark bruise. Blood trickled from his lip. "Why? Why did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Don't screw with me, you bastard! Terrance Abernathy, Yissi Beniquez, all the others. Why them? What did they ever do to you? To anyone?"

Grath cackled. It took all of Rosa's self-control to keep from blowing him apart with a Reductor Curse.

"They never did anything to me," he said.

"So why curse them?" Weidepol's glare hardened. "What, do you just like making people suffer?"

A leer formed on Grath's face. "It was punishment."

"For what?" Weidepol demanded.

"That's what my father wanted."

Rosa tilted her head. "What are you talking about?"

"I wanted to join my father, to drink the poison and journey beyond the veil to be with our dark lord. For when he returns to this plane of existence, we would come back with him. His army of the dead, to conquer the world. But my father had other plans for me. There were Death Eaters, you see, who failed in their duties, or who ran away and cowered while the others made their final stand at Helghorst Island. They had to be punished. So my father gave me a book -"

"_The Tome of Terrible Talismans?"_ Weidepol asked.

Grath smiled. "Ah, you've heard of it. Yes, that's the one I used. He told me to use it on those cowards and incompetents, to make them suffer for the rest of their miserable lives for failing our dark lord. Unfortunately, most of those scum either wound up dead or in prison. But my father wanted them punished, and, well, the sins of the father, and in some cases, the mother, must be paid for by the child."

Rosa let loose a slow, angry breath. "Well isn't this a wonderful irony. Because now, you get to pay for the sins of your father. And unlike Terrance Abernathy and the others, you deserve it, because you turned out just as twisted and evil as Olin Grath."

Grath barked out another laugh. "You think that's an insult? I'm proud to be just like my father." His voice rose, and he gazed out at the work tables. Several wizards and witches had picked themselves off the floor and now stared at the bound Minos Grath. "You think you defeated us all those years ago? You're fools, all of you! We will rise again, stronger than ever! If anyone can defy death, it is our dark lord Voldemort. Fear his name! He shall return! He shall return and rule over this planet and wipe away the infestation known as Muggles and Muggle-borns! You will all bow down to -"

"Aw, shut up!" One of the Colbert's employees hollered.

"Yeah, shut your hole!" said another one.

"Voldemort's dead, asshole. He's not coming back."

"You talk pretty tough for a guy in a Constrictus Curse."

Grath looked around the room, sucking down panicked breaths. His mad eyes flared. His right cheek twitched. "Don't . . . don't mock me! Don't mock the dark lord. He will return. He will return and make you suffer!"

"Yeah, right!"

"Let him return. Then Harry Potter'll kill him again."

Several people laughed.

"Yeah, you know what they say. Third time's the charm."

More laughter erupted from the employees.

"Shut up!" Grath raged. "Shut up!"

The employees continued to laugh and mock Minos Grath.

Rosa turned to Weidepol. A smile spread across his face. Soon he laughed along with the employees. She joined in seconds later, gazing out at the dozens of witches and wizards who laughed and pointed at the incensed Grath. For years, one of the biggest worries in the auror communities was the surviving Death Eaters regrouping and trying to come to power again. She, too, worried about that. But with what she saw today, that worry vanished. Because here at Colbert's Cauldron Company, she bore witness to the fact that the Death Eaters had completely lost one of their chief weapons.

Fear.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	51. End And Beginning

**CHAPTER 51: END AND BEGINNING**

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**Rosa couldn't help but notice the determined look that settled on Weidepol's face as they approached the apartment building in Milmothryn Market. Jaw set, eyes narrowed, striding with purpose.

She tried looking at it from his point of view. Weidepol had been searching for these dark books for fifteen years. _The Tome of Terrible Talismans_ was the last one he needed to find, and it lay somewhere in Minos Grath's apartment. At least, she hoped it did. She didn't want to think how Weidepol might react if they couldn't find it. To be so close to ending this whole ordeal, only to be denied by cruel fate.

_It has to be in there. Minos would want to keep it close to him._

They entered Minos Grath's tiny apartment. The place looked even blander than Terrance's apartment. Bare walls, very little furniture, a small fireplace, an unmade bed . . .

. . . and at the foot of it, a trunk.

Rosa turned to Weidepol, cocking an eyebrow. "It can't be this obvious."

Weidepol shrugged. "I don't see a lot of other places where he could hide it. But let's just be on the safe side."

Weidepol swished his wand and chanted softly. Tendrils of yellow light stretched from his wand and settled over the trunk. A blood red glow surrounded it, and emitted a sound reminiscent of some horrific beast growling.

"Forget about security wards," he said. "Looks like Grath cast some pretty nasty curses on this trunk to keep anyone else from opening it."

Rosa snorted. "We're going to need a Curse-Breaker for this."

"Well that I leave for you. After all the aurors and Department people I've pissed off, they'll probably bury any request I make."

"You're in luck." She smiled. "It just so happens I know one Curse-Breaker very well, and I don't have to make an official request to get him here."

"Is he good?"

"He's very good, and I'm not just saying that because he's family."

Rosa went over to the fireplace and chucked some Floo Powder into the hearth. "Department of Magic, Curse-Breaker Division, office of Esteban Diaz."

She stuck her head into the green flames, hoping her cousin was there.

"Esteban? Esteban!" She gazed around the office, catching sight of pennants for the Salem Witches Institute and the Boston Bandits, a shelf stacked with books on curses and combating the dark arts, and several framed photographs on the desk.

No sign of Esteban, however.

"Damn." She started to pull her head out of the flames when the door opened and in walked Esteban.

"Rosa? Well this is a nice surprise."

"Hey, Esteban. I was just about ready to end this Floo call. Good timing."

"Thanks." He closed the door and headed over to the fireplace in his office. "I just got back from lunch with Rodolfo. Oh, wait till you hear this. He told me he has a date this Saturday night, and guess with who?"

"All right, who?"

Esteban grinned before he spoke. "Holly Juniper."

Rosa shook her head in amazement. "Holly? Are you kidding me?" Holly Juniper? Little Holly, who Jimmy used to tell bedtime stories to when they were in the Appalachians?

_Not so little Holly any more. _For the past four years she had worked for the Bureau for the Management of Magical Creatures, same as Rodolfo. And now they were going on a date? Her little cousin Rodolfo and Holly?

_Merlin's beard, can I feel any older? _"I didn't even know he had a thing for her."

Esteban shrugged. "Neither did I. But he told me she helped him out with some projects, and he really started liking her, but was afraid to ask her out because he knew you guys think of her like she was your own kid. I guess he finally got up the courage."

"Good for him. Just tell him to treat her good."

"Oh, he will. He knows if he steps out of line with her you and Jimmy and Jared and Artimus will hex the living hell out of him, and I'll help."

Rosa chuckled. "Thanks, Esteban. But much as I'd like to talk about Rodolfo and Holly, I'm actually calling on business."

"Yeah, Rodolfo told me you stopped by his office yesterday, something about an old classmate of his."

Rosa gave him a quick rundown of the case, which left her cousin with his jaw hanging open in shock.

"The son of Olin Grath? No way." He scowled. "Looks like he turned out to be as big an SOB as his father. I'm glad you were able to catch him. You all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. But we think the book he used is locked up in a trunk here in his apartment. Looks like he put a bunch of serious curses on it to protect it. This is something we need your skills for."

"Say no more, cuz. Stand back and let me in there."

Rosa stepped away from the Floo flames, allowing Esteban to walk through and enter the apartment. After she introduced him to Weidepol, Esteban knelt in front of the trunk and ran his wand over it several times.

"Merlin's beard, there has to be at least four different curses on this trunk. Grath's kid must have been serious about protecting whatever was in here."

"But you can open it, can you?" Weidepol asked, a hint of desperation in his voice.

Esteban shot him an annoyed look, as though he felt Weidepol was questioning his skills. He slowly exhaled and answered, "I've broken through worse curses than this. But you may want to grab a magazine or something. This is gonna take some time."

Rosa and Weidepol just watched in silence as Esteban went to work, speaking numerous incantations, making all sorts of elaborate gestures with his wand, and sending numerous bolts of colorful light at the trunk. Every minute or so Rosa glanced over at Weidepol. She could easily sense his impatience. He grimaced, he sighed, he flexed his wand hand over and over, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. A few times she thought he would yell at Esteban to hurry up. She had a Silencing Charm all ready for him if he started to utter a single word. She knew that many times Curse-Breakers needed to keep all their focus on the task at hand. One slip and the consequences could be disastrous. She'd be damned if she'd let Weidepol's impatience jeopardize her cousin's life.

Thankfully, Weidepol held his tongue.

It took nearly a half-hour before Esteban successfully removed every curse from the trunk.

"And we're done." He exhaled loudly and mopped his brow with the back of his hand. He stood up and snapped his wand hand up. The lid of the trunk opened. All three gathered around and stared inside.

Only one item was in the trunk. A book. Etched in the black leather cover, in blood red letters, were the words _The Tome of Terrible Talismans._

"Merlin's beard," Weidepol said in a hushed breath. "I finally found it." He brought up his wand.

"Wait a minute." Esteban gripped Weidepol's arm and lowered it. "Let me just make sure it's safe."

He cast a few spells on the inside of the trunk, scanning for any more curses. When he found none, Esteban nodded to Weidepol. The auror levitated the book out of the trunk. He let it hover in front of him for a few seconds, staring at it with unblinking eyes, before finally lowering it to the floor. Weidepol dug into his robes and pulled out the lighter.

"Blancosflame?" Esteban asked.

"Yeah." Weidepol nodded. He lowered his hand, aiming the lighter at the book.

Rosa watched, waiting for him to flick it and turn the damn thing into ash.

She waited, and waited.

Weidepol just stared at the book, unmoving.

_Well? What are you waiting for?_

He just kept staring at it, his shoulders barely moving with each breath he took.

The hairs on the back of Rosa's neck tingled. She held her breath as she gazed at Weidepol. Why didn't he just destroy the book? Could he . . .

Worry grew inside her. Could he have wanted the book for himself all along? Did he pretend to befriend her just to be in a position to take it when the time was right? Was he no better than Minos Grath?

"Xavier?"

He didn't respond, except for a flexing of the jaw.

"Xavier!"

His head whipped around to her, a shocked expression on his face.

"Just burn the damn thing already."

Weidepol bit his lip. He sighed, shoulders slumping, and turned back to the book. His thumb clicked the lighter. A stream of brilliant white flame shot toward the book and consumed it. A painful shriek erupted from the fiery book. Rosa grimaced. Within seconds, the shriek faded. The flames glowed bright, then died down. Soon they vanished completely, leaving a small pile of ash on the floor.

"It's over." Weidepol stared at the blackened remains of _The Tome of Terrible Talismans. _A heavy sigh escaped his lips. The lighter slipped from his hands and clattered to the floor.

"Xavier?" Rosa's face scrunched in puzzlement. "Are you all right?"

He said nothing, just continued staring at the ashes.

"Xavier." She put a hand on his shoulder. "You did it. You destroyed it, destroyed all those dark books."

"Yeah. I did it." A laugh burst from his throat, a laugh that didn't hold much humor. "I did it. Now what?"

"What do you mean?"

"Fifteen years. Fifteen years I spent tracking down all those books. This wasn't just some case for me. This was my life. It was my family's life, our responsibility, for decades, and now . . . now what am I supposed to do?"

"Now you have a chance to get on with your life," Rosa said.

"Heh! What life?"

"What do you mean 'what life?' You're an auror."

"An auror who most people think is a crackpot."

"They won't after this. I'll vouch for you."

"And then what? I have no family. Let me rephrase that. What family I do have doesn't want anything to do with me. It's like . . ." Weidepol chewed on his lower lip for a moment. "It's like after Haley left and took Priam, searching for those books was all I had to keep me going. Now that they're all destroyed, what do I do?"  
Rosa let out a slow, annoyed breath. She took a step closer to Weidepol, eyes narrowed. "For starters, you can quit whining and feeling sorry for yourself. You can take some pride in the fact you rid the world of a terrible book that cursed eight innocent people. You rid the world of a lot of other books that can't be used to hurt anyone else any more. And like I said, you're an auror, so you can keep on protecting people from dark witches and wizards. As far as your family life goes, you can rec . . ." Her jaw tightened. She forced herself to continue. "You can reconcile with your ex-wife."

"I think it's way too late for that."

"Then you can at least try to reconnect with your son, explain to him why you did what you did, try to get him to understand." Her voice softened. "Take it from someone who knows, there's nothing that feels worse than when family members who should love one another can't stand to be in the same room with each other. Instead of treating this like the end of your life, look at it as a fresh start."

Weidepol turned away, aiming a thoughtful gaze at the wall. He emitted a slight chuckle before turning back to Rosa. "You're not shy about giving your opinion, are you?"

"You got that right," Esteban muttered.

Rosa shot her cousin a scathing look. He smiled, the veins in his neck sticking out. "Sorry. I'll just keep my mouth shut."

She nodded and turned back to Weidepol. A smile slowly formed on his face. "I guess you're right. I guess I do need to look at this as a fresh start. So why don't we celebrate? How about dinner? My treat."

Rosa tilted her head. "Are you asking me out?"

Weidepol shrugged. "Um, yeah. I guess so."

Rosa chewed on the inside of her cheek. She looked over her shoulder at Esteban. He gave her a supportive smile.

She turned back to Weidepol, a wry grin on her lips. "Then I guess my answer is yes."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	52. Final Forgiveness

**CHAPTER 52: FINAL FORGIVENESS**

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_LOCATION: Lexington, Massachusetts, northwest of Boston._

_TIME FRAME: Four years after the events of the previous chapter._

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_

For some, an act like this could be construed as ego or vanity. Not for Jimmy O'Bannon. Whenever he started at the large glass cabinet in the hallway leading to the living room, he felt something else.

He felt lucky.

He breathed deep as his eyes scanned all the items in the cabinet, all representing so many personal accomplishments over the past several years. There on the middle shelf was a book with a moving photo of him. One moment he wore robes and held a wand, the next he wore his Boston Bruins jersey and clutched a hockey stick. The title read _A Foot In Two Worlds: The Jimmy O'Bannon Story. _The top shelf displayed two cases, both containing a Stanley Cup championship ring. A few inches down from the rings was the Selke Trophy, awarded to the NHL's top defensive forward, which he won his sixth season with the Bruins.

His eyes flickered to the third shelf, and a couple small stands featuring his Haldus Cross and his Order of Merlin. Next he studied the various framed photos inside the cabinet and hanging from the wall around it. Him with Bruins legend Bobby Orr. Him raising the Stanley Cup after winning it for the first time. A collage of pictures from the 2010 Winter Classic, the outdoor hockey game held that year at Fenway Park. He and Mireet standing in front of the famed Green Monster in left field. He and Philadelphia Flyers tough guy Dan Carcillo duking it out. Him in a crowd of Bruins, hugging one another after he assisted on the game-winning goal in overtime.

A smile came to his face as he stared at other, more family-oriented photos. He, Mireet, son Robert, and daughter Elysee kneeling around the Stanley Cup. The four of them at a Boston Bandits match. Robert laughing as George Weasley showed off a trick wand, which turned into rubber chicken. Robert holding little Elysee as they stood in front of Rosa and Xavier Weidepol at their wedding just a couple months ago. Ginny Potter flying Robert on her broom around the Holyhead Harpies stadium.

Finally his gazed settled on a picture of him and Mireet, as teenagers, wearing their Triad hockey jerseys.

_My God, has it really been over twenty years since that time?_

O'Bannon usually liked to end his time in front of the cabinet by staring at a picture of just him and Mireet. It served as a reminder that he should never take anything in his life for granted. Had it not been for that beautiful, wonderful French witch pulling him out of the bowels of depression and alcoholism, he wouldn't have this house, or his wealth, or his rings and trophies, or his years playing for the Boston Bruins, or his accomplishments in the field of Muggle/Muggle-born awareness. Most importantly, he would not have his wife and two children.

_Ya done good, Jimmy. Just don't mess it up._

He looked back at the photo of him, Mireet, Robert and Elysee with the Stanley Cup. No way in hell would he mess this up. Not when he had those three depending on him.

"I'm ready, Dad."

He looked down the hall. A brown-haired boy, taller and thicker than the average nine-year-old, trotted down the hall, clutching a hockey stick.

"Great, let's go." O'Bannon placed a hand on his son's back and led him into the living room and toward the front door. Along the way he caught sight of another photo hanging on the wall, a magical one, and one that made him grimace every time he saw it. It showed him standing in Boston's Kenmore Square, wearing a New York Yankees jersey and holding a sign that read, "I Love Derek Jeter." He shook his head, remembering his off-the-cuff bet he made with Fred and George Weasley that he would do that if Ron and Hermione ever got married. More than anything, he wanted to _Incendio _that damn picture, but Mireet insisted that it stay hung up on the wall as a reminder to him to always think before he spoke.

O'Bannon and Robert walked out the front door and made for the driveway, where a net had been set up and a bucket full of rubber balls sat near the sidewalk. A smile grew on his face as he headed for the net. He needed to cherish moments like this. Next year Robert would be starting at the Salem Witches Institute. With Mireet having taken Elysee clothes shopping at Milmothryn Market, this was a good day for some father-and-son bonding. He hoped, in some small way, it made up for all those days and nights he'd been in cities like Montreal and Toronto and Pittsburgh and Dallas and Los Angeles with the Bruins instead being right here with Robert.

"Okay, Robert. Show me what you've got." He crouched in front of the net, stick in hand.

"You got it, Dad." Robert reared back with the stick and slapped the orange rubber ball. It missed wide and bounced off the garage door. The next shot also missed. And the next.

"You're angling the stick a little too much," O'Bannon told him. "Straighten it out."

"Okay." Robert hit another ball. This one hit off O'Bannon's leg. The next one went in. Robert cheered and raised his stick.

"Nice shot." O'Bannon smiled.

"Yeah! Just like Sydney Crosby."

A look of faux distress came over O'Bannon's face. "Sydney Crosby? How about just like Jimmy O'Bannon?"

"C'mon, Dad. Sydney Crosby scores a lot more than you do."

O'Bannon couldn't help but laugh. Robert had definitely inherited his talent for sarcasm. And who the hell knew what guys like Jared Diaz and George Weasley put into his poor son's head when they were around him?

"Okay, you're right about that," he replied. "Believe me, I know that all to well."

Robert fired another ball at him, and another, and another. O'Bannon deflected one with his stick when he glimpsed someone walking up the sidewalk, a tall woman with long hair and dark skin. He furrowed his brow. There was something familiar about her.

_Nah. It can't be._

He turned back to Robert, keeping one eye on him and another eye on the woman. She didn't look like any of their neighbors. He thought about his wand in his back pocket, about the wards erected around their home. Even all these years after the war, he still kept on guard for any threats. While this might be a more tolerant Wizarding World, there were still a fair number of folks who despised Muggle-borns and blood traitors.

The woman walked past the edge of the wards. Nothing happened.

_Okay, she's not a threat. So who is . . ._

He straightened up, barely noticing the ball Robert shot past him into the net. His eyes widened when he recognized the face. Still angular, still very attractive, even if the woman didn't smile.

Emotions swirled inside him. Shock. Disbelief . . . and anger.

The woman stopped at the end of the driveway and just stared at him. Robert turned around and craned his neck to look up at her.

"Hello."

The woman gave him a brief smile, then looked back at O'Bannon. "Hello, Jimmy."

He said nothing, just kept his eyes locked on her. He tightened his grip on his stick. "Angelina?"

Angelina Johnson nodded.

"What are you doing here?" Memories from sixteen years ago fueled his anger. Memories of the article by Rita Skeeter. Article, hell. It had been a pack of lies about his reasons for returning to the Wizarding World. Some of those lies had been provided to Skeeter by the witch standing in his driveway, a witch he had at one time considered a friend.

Angelina's eyes darted in all directions. She sucked on her lower lip. Merlin's beard, was she nervous? He didn't think Angelina knew the meaning of the word.

"I . . . I want to . . . I need to talk to you."

"Really? Last time I saw you, you made it pretty clear you didn't want anything to do with me ever again."

"Times change. Please, Jimmy."

"Dad?" Robert turned to him with a confused look. "Who's this?"

"Someone I knew a long time ago."

"Jimmy, please. I'm begging you. Just please hear me out."

Surprise pierced his anger. Angelina begging? When had she ever done that?

And should it matter to him?

"You owe me at least a few minutes of your time."

"What makes you think that?"

"When you came back to Hogwarts, I helped draw away those aurors so you and your friends had an easier time getting away."

Robert's eyes bulged in amazement. "Wow! Dad, did she help you during the war? And she's British? Do you know Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny and -"

"Robert, why don't you go to your room? I need to talk to her."

"But Dad, I wanna hear what you guys did at Hogwarts. How did she help you?"

"Robert, now. This'll just take a few minutes."

Robert frowned. "Okay." He trudged toward the front door, dragging his stick behind him.

O'Bannon turned around, checked to make sure none of the neighbors were watching, and pulled out his wand. With a quick wave he opened the garage door. He gave a quick wave of his hand, indicating for Angelina to come inside. Once she did, he closed the garage door with another wave of his wand.

"Okay." He stood between the SUV and the car and crossed his arms. "You wanted to talk. So talk."

Angelina drew a slow breath. "I . . . just wanted to say that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the way I treated you when you came back to the Wizarding World, for . . . for saying what I said in Rita Skeeter's article."

"And it took sixteen years for you to finally say that?"

"Jimmy, I . . . Things change."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Angelina lowered her head, staring at the concrete floor for several seconds. "After the war, I was just so angry. Angry at myself for never acting on my feelings for Fred, angry at Fred for getting himself killed, angry at you for wanting to forget him, and angry at . . . at all my friends for forgiving you. That night . . . that night at The Burrow, when Lee and Katie and Alicia and the others forgave you, and I couldn't, I . . . I couldn't bring myself to speak to them. They were like family when I was at Hogwarts, and I was so mad at them. And Ginny. We were both with Holyhead at the time. I couldn't stand being on the same team with her, to the point I asked to be traded. So I got shipped off to Puddlemere United."

"Well whose fault is all that?" O'Bannon realized the comment sounded a bit petty. Not that he cared. Angelina had joined with that lying bitch Rita Skeeter to trash him, to accuse him of wanting to reconcile with his friends in Britain so he could feed off their fame from the war. Any dig he could get in on her, he'd take it.

A sullen look formed on Angelina's face. O'Bannon rolled his eyes as she continued. "It's been so long since I've seen any of them, spoken to them. When I got to Puddlemere, I made some new friends. But, I went through so much with Fred and George and Katie and Lee . . . and you. Then two years ago I got married -"

"Wow, you actually found someone who'd marry you? Will miracles never cease?"

Angelina's jaw tightened. He couldn't tell if she was about to yell at him or cry. He really didn't care either way.

She continued. "I thought, when Fred died, I missed my chance at being with a wonderful man. But then I met Weston, and I was just so happy, and . . . well, I started taking stock of my life. I realized what I did to you and George and Alicia and everyone else, I realized I'd been wrong. That I hurt a lot of people. People I considered my friends."

"Well isn't that nice. You know what would have been nicer? If you'd have realized that sixteen years ago."

"Jimmy!" Moisture welled up in Angelina's eyes. "I'm trying to apologize to you. I was wrong, all right? I was wrong, and I wish more than anything I could take it back."

"Some things are pretty damn hard to take back, Ang." Anger lines etched into his face. "You know, I would have understood if you'd have just stayed pissed off at me all these years. That I can accept. But what you did, you went to a witch who you knew was a lying, evil bitch who specialized in slandering everyone she could, and you helped her with a hit piece on me that you knew was a bunch of bullcrap."

"I'm sorry, all right!" Angelina threw her arms out to her side and took a couple steps toward him. "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? Like that makes up for it? Like that erases what you did? Heh! I bet if Benedict Arnold went up to George Washington after the American Revolution and said, 'I'm sorry,' we wouldn't think of him as one of the biggest traitors in American Muggle history."

"So that's it? I come here trying to make things right and you won't even listen to me. You, who spent all those months in Britain begging everyone to forgive you."

"Don't throw that back in my face, Johnson. When I left the Wizarding World, I just left. I didn't go out of my way to stab my friends in the back."

"What you did was still a betrayal. Yet they all forgave you. And I remember how mad they all were at you, how they even hated you. How _I _hated you. And I remember how desperate you were to have them forgive you. They could all forgive you, but you can't forgive me?"

O'Bannon didn't reply. He just clenched his jaw.

Angelina gasped, as if fighting off a sob. "I'm sorry, Jimmy. I'm so sorry. I was just so angry at the time, and I wasn't thinking straight. But after everything that happened during the war, never having the chance to tell Fred I loved him, knowing I'd never have that chance, I just . . . how could I even think rationally? How could any of us, after so many people we cared about died?"

O'Bannon looked away from her. He gritted his teeth, trying to hold on to his anger. But he kept recalling one of the things he and the rest of the quartet said when they looked back on those two to three years after the war.

"_None of us were in our right minds back then."_

_Maybe, but I didn't betray anyone like she did._

_Some people wouldn't see it that way._

He remembered the way George reacted when he announced he was leaving the Wizarding World. The guy, one of his best friends, almost punched him out right there in the corridors of Hogwarts. He thought of the brief flings he had during that time, including that skank in Fort Wayne the night he got arrested – _Jeez, I can't even remember her name now. _He was still in love with Mireet, yet he'd been with women he barely knew, didn't even care to know, because then he wouldn't get hurt. But to this day, he considered each of those women a betrayal to his wife. Yet Mireet forgave him for it.

He looked back at Angelina, and froze in astonishment. She was crying. Really crying. Her entire body convulsed as tears streamed from her eyes.

"Jimmy, I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She leaned against the door of the SUV, sobbing.

O'Bannon continued staring at her. It scene felt surreal. Anyone else, he might think they were faking it. But Angelina Johnson? With the exception of Rosa, she was the toughest witch he'd ever met. He remembered some of the vicious hits she put on Slytherin players, both male and female, when the Triad played them all those years ago. Angelina Johnson just did not cry.

His mind propelled him back in time sixteen years ago, the months he spent apologizing to his friends in American and in Europe. He remembered how desperate he'd been, how difficult it had been, how he prayed they would forgive him.

Seeing Angelina leaning against his SUV, crying her eyes out, he wondered if she experienced some of those same feelings.

_I think the answer's pretty obvious._

He then thought about what Angelina had said when she showed up in his driveway. How she risked so much to lure several aurors away from the Hogwarts grounds so he and his friends could reach the Quidditch field, grab some brooms, and get the hell out of Dodge.

How many friends would have done something like that?

O'Bannon let out a slow breath. He stepped closer to Angelina. She looked up at him, her eyes watery and red.

_Can I do it? Can I forgive this kind of betrayal?_

_Your friends forgave you. If you can't forgive Angelina . . ._

He reached out and clutched Angelina's shoulder. "You're right, you know. A lot of things happened back then that none of us are proud of. A lot of people gave me a second chance when I probably didn't deserve it." He bit down on his lower lip. "I . . . I forgive you, Ang."

A shaky smile formed on her face. She pushed herself off the SUV and hugged him. "Thank you, Jimmy. Thank you."

When they broke the embrace, he grinned at her. "Well, I guess now, it's good to see you again."

Angelina half-laughed, half-sobbed.

"Um, here." He took out his wand and conjured a tissue. "You probably need this."

"Thanks." She took it and wiped her eyes and blew her nose. "Bloody hell. Look at me, crying like a newborn."

"Yeah. What do you know, you are human after all."

Angelina chuckled and wiped her eyes again.

"So, um . . ." O'Bannon began. "I guess we've got some catching up to do."

"Yeah. Sixteen years worth."

"Well, for starters, who's this Weston guy?"

"Weston Mote," Angelina answered. "He's one of the Beaters for Puddlemere. In fact, we're here in The States doing an exhibition tour. We play Boston tomorrow. Maybe . . . maybe I can get you some tickets."

"I'd like that. I never have seen you play Quidditch before."

Angelina smiled. "So, that little boy. Your son, I take it?"

"Yeah. Robert. He's nine, a couple months away from turning ten. Gonna be starting at Salem next year. I also have a daughter who's almost four. Elysee."

"That's nice. It looks like you and Mireet have made out well for yourselves. Speaking of which, where is she?"

"She took Elysee shopping in Milmothryn Market. They should be back soon."

An apprehensive look came over Angelina's face. "I hope she's just as forgiving as you are."

"I'm sure she'll be. Meanwhile, why don't I formally introduce you to my son?"

He led Angelina back inside the house. She gawked as she walked by the glass cabinet, O'Bannon pointing out his Stanley Cup rings and his Selke Trophy. When they got to Robert's room, they found him laying on his bed reading _Quidditch News Weekly_. He looked up. "Hey, Dad. Can we go out and shoot some more balls?"

"Yeah, we will in a minute. But first, I want to introduce you to Angelina Johnson."

"Mote, now," she corrected him.

"Oh yeah. I mean, Angelina Mote."

"You know her?" Robert asked.

O'Bannon looked from his son to Angelina and smiled. "Oh yeah. Angelina here is a very good friend of your mom and me."

_**NEXT: **__The saga of the quartet concludes as our heroes come . . . FULL CIRCLE._


	53. Full Circle

**CHAPTER 53: FULL CIRCLE**

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_LOCATION: Lexington, Massachusetts, USA_

_TIME FRAME: "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows; Epilogue" (One year after the events of the previous chapter)_

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_

Jimmy O'Bannon swallowed against the lump in his throat as he looked at Robert's trunk sitting on the bed. He didn't think today would be this hard. He wondered if his parents felt the same way all those years ago when first went away to the Salem Witches Institute.

_Now it's my son going there._

He swallowed again. He thought of all those times when he had to leave his family during road trips with the Bruins, sometimes for as long as two weeks. Now it was Robert who was leaving them, for nearly three months. The next time they'd see him would be for Christmas Break.

The lump in his throat grew. He swallowed again.

O'Bannon made a final check of his son's trunk, making sure he had everything. A pile of cards and letters caught his eye. He reached down and picked them up, smiling as he read through them. So many people wished Robert good luck his first year at Salem. He read over the cards from his parents and Mireet's parents. Harry and Ginny Potter also sent him their best wishes, as did Ron and Hermione Weasley.

_And they have kids starting at Hogwarts this year. _In fact, Albus Potter and Rose Weasley were probably just pulling into the train station at Hogsmeade right about now.

He, Mireet and the kids also sent them cards wishing them the best of luck.

He went through the pile. The Potter children – James, Albus and Lily – sent a picture of themselves holding up a sign with a crude drawing of a stick figure walking up a path toward the Salem Witches Institute. The sparkling gold words at the bottom read, "Good luck at Salem, Robert."

He came across another letter, this one from Dean and Luna Thomas and their children, Castor, Calliope and Harold. Luna included a hippogriff feather since, according to her, "They bring good luck."

He read through more cards and letters. Daedalus and Kyon Drunkenmiller. Michael and Cho Corner. Even Mireet's sister, Monique, had sent a letter wishing Robert well. O'Bannon gave a half-smile. Even after all these years, Monique had never warmed up to him, and she wasn't as close with Mireet as they probably should be, but at least she didn't take any of that out on Robert and Elysee. He had to give her some credit for that.

He dropped the letters back in the trunk, closed it and levitated it out of the bedroom.

"Elysee, stop fussing," he heard Mireet say from their daughter's room. "We need to get going."

O'Bannon walked past and saw Mireet helping Elysee put her shoes on. He smiled and shook his head. Even at five-years-old, Elysee looked so much like her mother.

"Everything's packed." He nodded to the trunk floating behind him. "You all set?"

"In a moment . . . There! _Oui._ We are ready."

Mireet helped Elysee off the bed. They headed downstairs to the living room, where Robert waited with the rest of his luggage, bouncing from one leg to the other. If O'Bannon didn't know any better, he'd think his son was doing the potty dance.

"Are we ready? Can we go now?"

"_Oui. _I just had to help your sister get her shoes on."

Robert's eyes narrowed at Elysee. "I better not be late because of you."

Elysee gave him a pouty face.

"We're not gonna be late," O'Bannon said. "We've got plenty of time to get to the pier. And be nicer to your sister. You're not gonna see her again till December." The lump returned to his throat.

Robert frowned. "Yes, Dad."

They loaded everything into the SUV and headed into Boston. Robert spent much of the trip asking O'Bannon all sorts of questions about Salem. What were the best subjects? Which ghosts were cool and which ones were "wankers?"

"Robert." Mireet, sitting in the passenger seat, whipped her head around to stare at their son. "Where did you learn that word?"

"Um . . . uh, Un . . . Uncle George," his voice tailed off. "When we were in England last year."

Mireet sighed harshly. O'Bannon kept his eyes on the road, pretending to ignore the scene. He thought about the best wishes letter from George and his wife, Branwen, the one that had a sample of the latest Skiving Snackboxes. He and Robert made a pact that they would not tell Mireet about that gift.

The questions continued as they neared Boston Harbor. Did Salem have that point system that Hogwarts did? When would he get to cast a patronus, and what would his look like? Could he try out for the Quidditch team as a First Year? That was followed by the question, "You don't mind if I play Quidditch instead of hockey, do you, Dad?"

"Son, you play whatever sport at Salem you want. Besides, your mom was a heck of a Beater back in the day."

"Cool. Maybe I'll try out for Beater."

Mireet smiled. O'Bannon swore he saw her eyes glisten. He couldn't be sure since she turned to stare out the passenger window.

After they found a space in the Harbor parking lot, the four proceeded to a plain wooden building with a single door that had a sign with one word. CONDEMNED. Two familiar figures stood next to it.

"Grandmom! Grandpop!" Robert and Elysee sprinted over to O'Bannon's parents and hugged them.

"I didn't know you guys were gonna be here," Robert said.

"Well I have to see my grandson off to Salem, don't I?" Mom said. She cupped Robert's face and kissed the top of his head. "Good luck, sweetie. You be careful."

"I will, Grandmom."

Dad came over and clasped O'Bannon's shoulder. "So, does this bring back any memories?"

"Yeah, lots. Except you and Mom were a lot more nervous about me going to Salem for the first time than Robert."

Dad shrugged. "Well, you'd think after nearly thirty years we'd be used to everything in the Wizarding World."

O'Bannon smiled. He recalled a time when he feared his parents would despise the Wizarding World, after seeing the toll the war had taken on him.

_That's all in the past now._

He grabbed hold of the loose knob and pushed open the rickety wooden door. They all walked into pitch darkness. Seconds later they emerged outside, staring out at a wooden pier lined with old-fashioned light poles. Sitting in the water was a large, slender ship with masts of blue and silver. The center mast displayed the outline of an owl's face with a red letter "S" in the middle. Underneath were words written in fancy script.

SALEM WITCHES INSTITUTE. EST. 1695.

"Whoa. Cool." Robert stared with wide eyes at the _Salem Schooner._

O'Bannon took a breath, the salt air filling his nostrils. He, too, gazed at the big wooden boat, remembering all his trips to and from school on it.

_Now Robert gets to ride on it. And in a few years, Elysee, too._

"C'mon." Robert jumped up and down. "C'mon, let's go."

They loaded Robert's stuff onto a trolley and headed toward the schooner. Along the way O'Bannon ran into some of his former classmates like Ursa Oberlin and Dante Marshall, who were also sending their children off to Salem.

"Doesn't seem like that long ago when we were on that boat, huh, Jimmy?" Dante said.

"You got that right, man."

As they continued walking down the pier, they noticed a knot of people gathered around one of the lampposts. A smile grew on O'Bannon's face. "I see you guys all beat us here."

Artimus and Jenna Rand turned and greeted them, along with their two strapping sons, Hector – a Fifth Year now – and Trajan – a Fourth Year.

"Are you excited, Robert?" A squat girl with short dark brown hair bounded over to him.

"You bet I am." He beamed at the third Rand child, Deirdre, now in her Second Year.

"You're gonna have so much fun," she told him. "You're not gonna believe all the stuff you're gonna do your First Year in Transfiguration and Charms. And then there's Potions . . ."

"Yeah, so long as you don't blow up the classroom like this one did." Trajan snickered and nodded at his sister.

"Shut up." Deirdre sneered at him.

"It was a simple mistake," Hector said. "The amount of ground Tillypok Leaves for a Cut-Healing Paste is very precise. Being off by even a fraction can ruin the potion."

"Thank you, Hector." Deirdre smiled at her brother.

"Or it can ruin a classroom," Trajan chimed in.

Deirdre scrunched her face at him.

"Just remember, Robert," a short witch with curled dark hair that fell to her shoulders walked up to him, along with a slender man with brown hair and a mustache. "Your first trip to Ovenderburg, you be sure to stop by my store to say hi . . . and buy a game. I do give family discounts, and you count as family."

"I will, Aunt Sam." Robert nodded to Jenna's younger sister, who together with her husband Don, owned a magical gaming store in Ovenderburg. "Thanks."

"You know I'll come by to see you." Trajan smiled at Samantha.

She turned around and gave her nephew an exasperated look. "I know you'll come by, Trajan, since I'm always having to fix the figurines for your miniature Quidditch game because you're too rough on them."

"I know, but look at it this way. I keep you and Uncle Don in business."

"Heh!" Don chuckled. "With all the business you give us, we'll be able to retire before we're thirty-five."

"Okay, nobody panic!" A familiar voice shouted. "We're finally here."

O'Bannon turned around and saw a grinning Jared Diaz strutting toward them in his Indiana Jones leather jacket and fedora. Tasanee, walking next to him, rolled her eyes, though she did give a faint smile.

Behind them came the rest of the Diaz clan. Ratana, now a Fourth Year, Miguel, a First Year like Robert, Esteban and Oriana with their youngest son Francisco, a Third Year. He also spotted Rodolfo, holding hands with Holly Juniper. _Holly Diaz, now. _He shook his head when he noticed the bulge in her stomach. At times it seemed hard to comprehend. The same little girl he looked after in the Appalachians nineteen years ago was now married and pregnant.

Finally he saw Irving Diaz, holding hands with a slender witch with gray-black hair. He smiled, as he usually did when he saw Jared's father with Cybele. Married five years now, Cybele, like Irving, had lost her spouse during the war.

_Another one of us who's come a long way. _His chest briefly tightened when he remembered that night in Thailand when Mr. Diaz, still despondent over his first wife's death, nearly jumped off the roof of the hospital Jared had been taken to when he overindulged in the Daydream Charm.

"Jimmy." Holly beamed as she approached him.

"Hey, sweetheart." He hugged her and kissed her cheek. "How are you doing?"

"Fine, but this pregnancy." She shook her head. "You won't believe the mood swings I go through. And Merlin's beard, I eat and eat and eat."

"Yeah, but you've got me to provide you with a never-ending supply of tissues and cauldron cakes." Rodolfo put an arm around Holly's shoulder. She smiled wide and leaned against him.

A warm feeling spread through O'Bannon. Thank God Holly had said yes when Rodolfo proposed to her. He couldn't have asked for a better husband for his surrogate daughter than Esteban and Oriana's son.

"Robert!" Miguel strode over to him.

"Hey, Miguel." The two boys high-fived one another. "You ready for this?"

"Heck yeah." Miguel patted his pants pocket. "I can't wait to use this wand. Too bad our first two classes are Herbology and History of Magic. No wands." He scowled. Then his eyes lit up. "But maybe I can go see Uncle Cesario or Aunt Adelaide and get them to fix my schedule."

"First of all," Tasanee said, "When you are at school, they are not Uncle Cesario and Aunt Adelaide. They are Headmaster Infante and Professor Infante. Second of all, just because they are the headmaster and the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher does not mean you can use their positions for your own benefit."

Miguel frowned. "Yes, Mom."

"That also applies to you, Robert," Mireet told him.

Robert's jaw dropped. "I didn't even say anything."

"No, but I suspect you thought it."

O'Bannon chuckled to himself before he caught sight of Rosa and Xavier Weidepol walking toward them. Actually, Xavier walked. Rosa waddled.

_Damn. Is she even bigger than the last time I saw her?_

"Aunt Rosa!" Robert rushed over to her and hugged her. Miguel was right on his heels. "What are you doing here?"

"What, I'm supposed to miss both my god-children heading off to Salem for the first time?"

"We are glad you could come." Mireet hugged her, then looked down at Rosa's enormous belly. "How are you doing?"

"Ugh! Twenty-three more days before I pop this kid out of me. Merlin, I'm so ready. I feel like a whale."

"Yeah, but you're the most beautiful whale in the world." Xavier planted a kiss on her cheek.

Rosa scowled at her husband. "Oh, that makes me feel so much better."

"I wouldn't put too much stock into the exactness of your due date," Jenna said. "Deirdre was born two weeks early. And this one . . ." She smacked Trajan on the arm. "I carried him around for three extra weeks before he decided to come out."

"Aw, c'mon, Mom. Like that's really my fault."

"Yeah, well who else do I have to blame?"

Laughter went up from the group.

They continued to talk, imparting advice to the younger children, and imploring the older ones to keep an eye on them.

"C'mon," Miguel groused. "We're not babies any more."

O'Bannon was listening to Xavier tell him how his ex-wife Haley had finally relented to let him see his son Priam for a little while when he heard a young voice behind him say, "I'm telling you, Dad. That's him."

"It can't be, Josh. How could it be?"

"I'm telling you, Dad, it's really him. Go on. Ask him if you don't believe me."

O'Bannon glanced over his shoulder. A man in his mid-thirties with receding brown hair and a paunch started toward him. Next to him, pushing a trolley, was a skinny young brown-haired boy. O'Bannon's eyes widened when he saw one of the items sticking out from the trunk.

A hockey stick.

The man neared him, a nervous look on his face. "Um, excuse me. I don't mean to intrude, but my son is a Muggle-born, and he swears you look like this famous hockey player, and I . . ." The man's brow furrowed. He tilted his head, as if studying O'Bannon's face closely.

"So does this hockey player have a name?"

"Um . . . yeah. Jimmy O'Bannon. He plays for the Bruins. You . . . you look just like him."

"Well, that's probably because I am him." He stuck out his hand. "Nice to meet you."

The man's face lit up with surprise and glee as they shook hands. "Oh, um, Larry. Larry McGreevy. And this is my son, Josh. Wow, I can't believe it's really you. We've watched you play for years. So you're the father of a Muggle-born, too?"

"Actually, I'm the Muggle-born."

"No way!" Josh blurted. "You're a hockey player and a wizard? Cool."

"Josh here's been playing youth hockey since he was five. I couldn't believe it when they told me this magic school has a hockey team, too."

"Well, we can thank a couple Muggle-borns back in the fifties for that. I played hockey when I was at Salem. Blazenrowe Hall."

"Sounds cool," Larry said. He then lowered his voice and stepped closer. "I just hope playing hockey there gives him a chance to make friends. Josh had a tough time in elementary school. He had some accidents, you know, with magic, and the other kids thought he was weird."

O'Bannon nodded. "A lot of Muggle-borns go through that. But I might be able to get the ball rolling." He turned around. "Robert. Miguel."

The two boys hurried over. "Larry, Josh. This is my son, Robert, and his friend, Miguel. Guys, that's Josh. He's a First Year, too, and a Muggle-born."

The two boys said "hi" to Josh, who responded in kind.

"Say, why don't you two do me a favor? Why don't you guys share a cabin with Josh on the trip to Salem, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," said Robert.

"No problem," Miguel added.

O'Bannon smiled. Pride flowed through him when he noticed that neither Robert nor Miguel hesitated before they answered, or acted like this was an inconvenience.

_We raised ourselves some good kids._

"Hey, thanks a lot, um, Mister O'Bannon." Larry shook his hand.

"Ah, it's Jimmy."

"Okay . . . Jimmy. Thank you so much for doing this. I mean, this whole Wizarding World thing, it's just a lot to take in."

"Well, to be honest, I happen to specialize in Wizarding-Muggle relations. So does my wife and my friend Artimus over there. If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to talk to us. My parents, too. They're over there, and they probably had the same kinds of fears and concerns when I first left for Salem."

"Great. I think I'll do that. Thanks. I really appreciate it."

Soon the servant elves appeared, whisking away the students' luggage, and of course, complaining about their tips.

_Some things never change._

And that's when it happened. Tears stung the corners of O'Bannon's eyes. _This is it. He's actually leaving._

He held his tears in check. Mireet didn't. Nor did Tasanee. They both hugged their sons tight, telling them they loved them and to be careful and to behave.

"No, don't go, Robert!" Elysee bawled and wrapped her arms around her brother. "I don't wanch'you to go!"

Robert groaned and patted his sister on the back. "Um, yeah. I'll miss you, too."

She still hugged him and cried.

"Um, okay, c'mon. Geddoff." Annoyance spread over his face.

"Elysee, come. Your brother must leave."

"No, no, no! Don't let him go, Mommy! I'm gonna be lonely."

Mireet pried Elysee off Robert, then hugged her as she continued to cry. "I know, precious." She stroked her hair. "I'm going to miss Robert, too."

O'Bannon walked over to his son and clutched his shoulder. "You take care of yourself, okay?"

"I will, Dad."

"And remember, if you have any problems, you can always talk to Mister or Mrs. Infante, or Trajan and Hector, or Ratana. Or you can always owl me and you mother, okay?"

"Yeah. Got it."

O'Bannon smiled, swallowed against the lump in his throat, and hugged Robert. A manly hug, like the kind he shared with his teammates after they scored a goal.

They watched the children march toward the _Salem Schooner_, waving good-bye and wishing them good luck.

Twenty minutes later, the ship slipped its moors and headed out into Boston Harbor.

O'Bannon walked out near the edge of the pier, watching the boat grow smaller, trying to feel confident that he and Mireet had done well raising their son, that he was ready for what lay ahead at Salem.

_We did. I know we did._

He sensed other people next to him. He glanced over and found Jared, Rosa and Artimus had joined him.

"Hey, what was that Muggle saying you told me?" Jared asked. "'It's deja'vu all over again.'"

O'Bannon furrowed his brow. "What?"

Rosa chuckled. "I think I know what he means. Remember way back when, when another Muggle-born hockey player boarded the _Salem Schooner _with kids named Diaz, Rand and Infante. Well, Diaz and Rand, anyway." She rubbed her stomach. "This kid has to wait a while before sailing on that ship."

"Heh!" He smiled. "Basically, life just came full circle for us."

"I just hope they have a better time at it than we did," Artimus said.

"They will." O'Bannon nodded, eyes still focused on the distant shape of the _Salem Schooner. _"We helped make sure of that."

_**THE END**_

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **_Thank you to everyone who has read the saga of my OCs and shared their triumphs and tragedies. Your support of these stories is greatly appreciated._

_So is this truly the end for this batch of original characters? To be honest, there are other writing projects for me to tackle. My own original works, and I also would like to craft some fan fiction stories in other universes. As they say, a writer writes. As for Jimmy and the gang, who knows? There might be some one-shots I come up with, or maybe I do something with the next generation. I also want to one day go back to the story that started it all, "The Puck Drops Here," and turn that into a multi-chapter story to really detail Jimmy's time at Hogwarts._

_Speaking of which, when I wrote "The Puck Drops Here" three years ago, I did it as a fun little project, just to throw an American into the world of Hogwarts. I never imagined Jimmy and his friends would take on a life of their own and weave themselves into the wonderful tapestry of the Harry Potter fan fiction universe. Funny how writing works out like that._

_Again, thank you for your readership. For those of you who have only read "In The Grip Of Darkness Parts I & II, feel free to check out the quartet's other adventures in "Air Of Disharmony," "Dark Horizon" and "Midnight's Blood." _


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